Hope

I walked into Woody's closet yesterday to retrieve the dirty clothes from the hamper. Instead, I found myself running my hand through his shirts hanging from the rod just as he left them. I then stood in front of the shelves where his folded clothes rested in neat little piles.  My hands ran over the course denim and smooth cotton blends. I caressed a shirt that had once covered the chest of the man I loved, and I felt my heart ache inside my chest as I longed to caress the man who once wore the clothing I fingered so lovingly. Finally, I laid my head down on a pile of shorts and began to weep.  

It is getting better.  Somedays it doesn't appear that way, but I am gradually accepting my new role. I am always filled with God's peace.  Yet the sorrow occasionally overshadows the serenity that rests deep in my soul.  I feel completely loved and protected. God has given me a church and community full of people willing to be His hands and feet.  Time will bring healing and new hope. However, in the moment there is unbearable pain and longing.

I quickly departed Woody's closet and descended down the stairs to find Haley sitting in the hearth room with a sweet smile gracing her lips.  While in the midst of the dreariest night God continues to provide a precious reminder that Woody lives on through the three amazing children He so graciously gave.    There will always be hope.  And eventually more smiles than tears. 

A Pit of Grief

The kids are gone so I crawled into that pit of grief, and I wallowed in the mire. I felt myself sinking further and further into the pain until my heart felt as if someone had ripped it from my chest and stood nearby squeezing it—not enough to take my life but just enough to cause excruciating pain to burn through my whole being. Why? The question that will never receive an answer this side of heaven. The question that rattles through my brain looking for a place to settle, uncertain of the outcome, needing resolution. This pit may consume me, but not today.

I see that God has thrown me a rope, and reluctantly my fingers wrap around the chords and I grasp it with what little strength I have. I need to believe. I need to know that God will carry me through this. Although some days feel as if I am racing away from the darkness that threatens to consume me, I must believe that I am racing towards the Light, who stands with His arms outstretched ready to catch me and hold me while sobs wrack my body. His hand will soothe away the pain and bring peace; maybe not today, but some day.

I will somehow come out on the other side of this. Somehow I will learn to avoid that dark pit which threatens to swallow me alive and crush my soul. I will learn to grab hold of the life line which God offers me daily, and I will find myself being lifted above the raging sea. I will know laughter and love and fulfillment in the purpose that God has planned for my life. Some day—just not today.

Progress

“I am terrified. I am overwhelmed. How will we make our way through these stormy seas? I feel alone and insignificant. I am weak. I curl up into a fetal position, hugging my knees close to my chest and I cry. My tears sting my eyes. Salty drops stain my face and moisten my knees. What will happen to us? How can I continue on this route when the way is strewn with boulders? Why?

Lord, we need Your divine intervention. Where are you? I have felt you so near, and now Your presence seems so far away from me. Please give me hope. Give me something to believe. I am so afraid. I am wracked with fear. I cannot get my mind wrapped around all that I need to do.”

These words were written exactly one month ago today—eight days after Woody’s accident. Although God has eased much of the pain, there remains a dull ache deep within that causes me to wonder if I will ever experience life the same. Yet, progress has been made.

I am no longer fearful, but I am often doubtful. I cannot see what the future holds for me or the children. I pray for their continued growth and that they will find love and laughter, but I wonder at the same time if I will ever again laugh as carelessly as I did with Woody. He knew exactly what to say and do whenever I was blue. He brought the sunshine into my cloudiest days. He filled my heart with love and joy. And now, I cannot imagine a future that does not contain the human embodiment of God’s love to me.

Every day I take one more step into the future. Every day I learn a little more about how to live without my other half. And every day I am thankful for all I do have—my children, my family, my friends, and my faith. “Breathe,” I tell myself each morning. “Take a deep breath and know that God will give you another.” I will wait and see what healing another month brings. Already, I can see progress. I still cry; I still long for Woody. However, the tears do not sting as sharply as they did nor are they always present. Occasionally, I laugh and I am filled with gratitude for what I have not lost. Yes, it is still a little overwhelming, but I know now we will survive—one day at a time. 

Progress....

Parenting Through Grief

How do I parent from a point of grief children who are grieving? We are all stumbling through the dark trying desperately to find our way. One child seems to be functioning quite well. Another has uncontrollable anger and the urge to rebel. And the third child has thrown himself into a sport he loves and refuses to discuss what happened. I am attempting to put the pieces of our family back together when I feel completely broken and inadequate. How do I mend something which will never again be whole?  

Tears are like raindrops falling at the most inopportune times, soaking the soul, leaving behind a muddy mess. Our pain is raw and all of us are experiencing it in different ways on different levels. Can I allow my children to fully grieve when I have not allowed myself to do so? How do I give myself permission to let go and wallow in my sorrow when I know I must be strong for the three young people who look to me for strength and wisdom? I cannot even see past the day in front of me let alone into their futures. I am failing. And failing at parenting is not something I can afford to do.

I look to God for wisdom, yet sometimes His words are barely audible. Last night Haley told me that she cannot be strong although she feels she needs to be.  I told her that she does not need to be. Her job right now is to become weak so that God can carry her in His strength. Perhaps I need to take my own advice. God’s power will be made perfect in my weakness. Perhaps parenting will best be accomplished when I completely trust God to bear my burden and accomplish what I cannot.

Parenting through grief. My new “normal.” Still, I do not parent alone nor do I suffer in solitude.  Although I no longer have my partner in parenting to physically carry me through these trials, I have my spiritual companion to lift me over every obstacle. I need only remember where my strength comes from.

One Month Ago Today...

Today marks one month since that fateful day when our lives were forever changed. One month, and still I long for one more day—one more day to pray with you, to talk with you, to hold your hand, to hold you close, to love you completely. However, one more day was not to be, and I must hold onto the memories of the days we were given.

I have learned so much about myself during this time and about God and grief. I have learned what it is to truly mourn. I understand what it is to lament, to groan, and to feel completely hopeless. Yet, at the same time I have gained a clearer view of God’s grace and compassion. I have felt His Spirit with me every second of every day since the horrific moment you were ripped from our lives. I have learned that I am stronger than I ever thought I could be without you—evidence of God’s existence. My sanity would have left me that day without supernatural intervention. Most of all, I have learned how desperately you were loved—by me, our children, family, friends, and co-workers. You were even more amazing than I realized.

I have learned, too, that our children are remarkable. We did well. All of those late night conversations full of anxiety concerning their futures and all of those prayers for their spiritual and physical growth have come to fruition.  They have drawn closer to their Heavenly Father and have relied upon His power. They are resilient and faithful. I know you must be so proud gazing upon them from your new home. They miss you tremendously! But in time, they will learn to live life bearing the void that your absence has created. They will build upon the foundation we laid together and it will never be shaken.

I love you! I feel as if I have been walking through a fog since the day you died. I still use present tense verbs when referring to you. I still reach for your hand before falling asleep. I miss everything about you! There are moments when I can almost see a light flickering through the haze, moments where a glimmer of hope lies on the horizon. But those moments are fleeting and far too few to be of lasting comfort. In time, they will become more frequent. In time, God will give me new dreams to replace the ones which were shattered with your life. Until then, I will take it one moment at a time—occasionally, one breath at a time. And I will continue to rely on our wonderful God to carry me through until the journey leads me back to you.

My Dream of You

You visited me in my dream last night. We were lying in bed. I snuggled up to you, letting the heat from your body warm me through. I held you tightly, breathed in the scent of you. My heart was full. I felt so very loved—and safe. The pain of the past four weeks was a distant memory. In fact, it ceased to exist. We lay in silence, breathing slow deep breaths, standing on the edge of dreamland not wanting to close our eyes—not wanting to miss a moment. When I lifted my face to kiss you, you smiled warmly and your eyes sparkled. Soft as butterfly wings, our lips met, but something was not quite right. I looked into your soft brown eyes and watched as the light slowly left them.  “Woody?” No response. “Woody, what’s going on?” Still, no response. Your body which just moments before had felt warm and comforting suddenly felt cold and clammy. I shook you. “Woody! Woody, please don’t leave me!  Woody, you can’t leave me. You just can’t leave me! Woody—please!”

Suddenly, you were no more. My arms were empty, but my heart? My heart was completely vacant. The air became frigid; the darkness enveloped me in cruelty. “Woody!” I yelled into the emptiness, yet I knew it was too late. You were gone—just as suddenly as you had been ripped from our lives four weeks ago. You were no more.

I awoke realizing that the deep sorrow and agony I have experienced cannot be understood by those who have not experienced it. Until you have watched the love of your life slide past you over the edge of a cliff and then have watched as the life slowly drained from his body, you cannot understand the anguish that we as a family are experiencing. Before this happened, I thought I knew heartache. I was clueless, and perhaps as insensitive as some of the people I have happened upon since that tragic day. I did not—could not—comprehend this level of grief. It is too horrible to grasp unless you experience it. There are no words to describe the constant ache in my heart and soul. Until one experiences great trauma and loss, one cannot understand the flux of emotions and the devastating toll it takes. Comfort does not come easily. Tear brimmed, swollen eyes tell the story that words cannot express.

Yet I find comfort in the God of peace. I curl up in His lap and I let His arms wrap me in love. I cry into His all-knowing shoulder. And He does know! He alone truly understands. We will be okay in time. We are desperately missing you, but in time we will learn to find a way to journey through life without your physical presence. God will see us through. And someday, I will see you again. I will be held in your arms and feel the warmth of your lips against mine. Someday. And on that day, I will not have to dream.

Losing a Father and the Jenner Debate

My children lost their “daddy” on Mother’s Day. For three and a half weeks I have watched them mourn in various ways. I have seen the grief overwhelm and numb. I have watched carefully from the sidelines trying to determine when to step in and help them process their loss in a healthy, constructive manner. Losing a parent is difficult. It redefines your reality. It brings up questions of identity. A void has been left in my children’s life that may never be filled. Hunter will not be able to call Woody for advice on how to propose to his girlfriend and then how to be a responsible, loving husband. Haley will not be able to wait in anticipation while her daddy interviews a prospective husband and then years later, walks her down the aisle to entrust her life to another man. And Haden will not be taught to drive and shave and countless other things by his loving father. Yes, I lost a husband, friend, lover, constant companion; but my children lost their hero.

While walking through the dark I have only been slightly aware of my surroundings. I have ignored the news and the events happening around the world. I have been too concerned about my own sphere of influence. My focus has been on my children and ensuring that this trauma does not define or destroy them. Pulling my head from the sand yesterday, I was made aware of the fact that Bruce Jenner is now Caitlyn Jenner; and apparently everyone has an opinion on the matter. Some people are downright shameful in their behavior. Being someone who does not have any association whatsoever to Caitlyn, I have no opinion. I am too troubled by my own life and safeguarding my recently downsized family that I haven’t the energy or time to bother myself with the personal struggles of a complete stranger. I am wondering what is being neglected in the lives of others that they have so much time to devote to saturating social media with sentiments which will be instantly criticized by someone else who has even more time on his or her hands. Why, people, are you squandering precious moments on something that will most likely never affect you when I am sure there are people living with you who need your opinions more than your countless followers?

If you are going to concern yourselves in the whole Bruce/Caitlyn debate, then please consider the people who matter most in this event—six children who just recently in a very public way lost their father. Kylie, Kendall, Brody, Casey, Burt, and Brandon Jenner just lost a father who, regardless of how well he did the job, was their hero. This has to be a confusing time for them whether they publicly admit it or not. Can we demonstrate a little compassion for these young people whose father, in a sense, has died? When I consider my own children and what they have just endured with their father’s death, the one thing that has been a tremendous help is hearing the stories from countless others as to the quality of the character of the man whom they knew as “dad.” Such positive feedback has aided them as they process their loss. I cannot imagine what it would be like for them if every day they had to read degrading comments questioning their father’s integrity. The Jenner children can no longer identify Caitlyn as father. Yes, one may argue that technically he is still part of their lives. But Bruce himself no longer exists. He was living a lie. How is that reality any better than a physical death?

As someone who has just had her life reprioritized by a very tragic incident, I ask you to focus on what really matters. Does a stranger’s sexual identity have anything at all to do with you directly? How will it affect your spouse and children? Is the whole fiasco distracting you from remembering who or what is truly worth your time? What if your spouse slid down a mountain as you stood helplessly to the side and left you a widow and your children without a parent? Would Jenner’s gender really matter? Please, for the sake of all that is truly important in your life, voice your opinions where they will be relevant—with your family, not your Facebook friends.