Survivor's Guilt?

“Who would like to go?” was the question that accompanied a dear friend's post on Facebook. She had attached a link with information about the “Taste of Georgia.” Impulsively I responded that I would love to go, and then before I could change my mind, I followed the link and purchased a ticket. Later while communicating via text with the same friend, I admitted that this future outing will be the first time that I have socialized with friends sans children since Woody died.

I am conflicted in my emotions. Part of me is excited at the prospect of grown-up interaction in a relaxed atmosphere with people I thoroughly enjoy; yet the other half of me feels guilty—guilty for allowing myself to live and laugh without Woody. It has been over a year, yet I still feel as if I will wake up one morning and find him lying next to me in bed with a mischievous grin on his face and explain how it was all a horrible hoax. I still struggle at the thought of allowing myself to engage in life, enjoy new experiences, and make new friends without him. I still miss him with every fiber of my being. Sometimes the feelings of loneliness and loss overwhelm me, until the pain is a physical ache deep within my chest. However, at the same time laughter comes quickly. Smiles grace my lips; and with every bit of joy I experience there is also a twinge of guilt for allowing myself to be happy.

Perhaps this too shall pass. I really don’t know. What I do know is that God has carried me through the worst season of my life, and He will somehow assist me as I navigate through this next phase of grief.

An Open Letter to Cameron Sterling

I am stunned. My heart is broken for a 15 year old boy who had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. My mind races back to a day 14 months ago when my 14 year old son had to watch his father’s violent, senseless death. And, no, the circumstances are not similar, but the loss and heartache are. As I view the video of Cameron Sterling standing next to his mother in his bright horizontally striped shirt, pulling up the collar to hide his face and somehow squelch the sobs, I am overtaken with pain as I watch him succumb to the sorrow and sob into a male relative’s arms.

Cameron, I am SO sorry! No young man should experience this kind of pain. This next year will be horrific as you walk through the fog of grief. You may block it from memory and refuse to acknowledge the pain, as my son has done; or you may engage in self-harm, as another child of mine has done. No matter what you do, the pain will stab at your heart and sting your eyes. The void will grow larger as you realize the gravity of your loss the next time you want to call or text your dad and realize he’s not there. More than anything, I wish I could wrap my arms around you and hug away the agony that grips you so tightly. I pray that through all of this you know that you have a heavenly Father who defends the orphan. He will be your Father and love you unconditionally. He alone understands the depth of your sorrow. My son and I are praying for you; and unfortunately, we know how to pray. We know what this year will look like for you and your siblings, and that is why we will not cease our prayers.

I will say this: although Cameron and Haden are the same age and have experienced a similar loss, it is not the same. Haden—a white male—does not have to worry about racial profiling. He walks down the streets of the city without fear from the police. I can honestly say that Cameron will never know that sense of peace. How many more lives must be lost before a black man can walk through the city with the same confidence as a white man?

A Wedding

It was a lovely wedding. I have known the bride and groom for years and have loved them both separately but love them even more as a couple. As they knelt to take communion together, I watched as the bride’s arm went around the groom’s torso and her hand rested lovingly on his back. Tears stung my eyes as I witnessed a long journey concluding at the altar. She had waited—and waited—for a man who would cherish her like Christ loved the church. I was honored to witness a union firmly established in faith.

The evening was bittersweet. I remembered the day I had pledged my life and love to a man who loved me with such great compassion and joy. We spoke of how we would grow old together and watch our children and grandchildren blossom into men and women. We planned trips around the world. We imagined retirement together. Our lives were ever intertwined. There was no future ever fantasized that did not include “we.”

But then the unimaginable happened. The man I vowed to love until death did us part tragically died shortly after his 43^rd birthday. Suddenly the future grew grim and gloomy. I realized then how very little control we have over what tomorrow might bring. We are not promised “old age.” We are not even guaranteed next week. We can only be assured of the moment we are in.  Life truly is short.

I know I will witness more weddings, and every one of them will be a joyous occasion. I just pray that every couple who walk down the aisle and enter into that covenant relationship will value every day after the wedding even more so than the ceremony itself. I pray that they treasure the years they are given and never squander even one single hour of any given day. Love is a gift from God, and marriage is by His design. Do not waste it.

One Step Forward....

One step forward, two steps back seems to be the pace at which we are moving these days.

I often wonder what Woody would make of our current situation. We are preparing to move for the second time in a year, Hunter is returning to Asbury University in the fall after losing and regaining his scholarship, Haley is anxiously preparing for her freshman year at Belhaven University in Jackson, Mississippi; and Haden and I are faced with the reality that we will soon be a family of two.

I miss Woody’s sound advice and constant support. I often question, “What would Woody do?” There is a running dialogue in my head as I discuss life’s matters with God knowing that I have no one else to turn to who knows me so well. I second guess every decision I make even after covering it in prayer. I wonder where we will all be in five years and if my children will look back on these years with admiration and love; or will they too question every choice I made and how I managed our affairs. I wonder if self-doubt is part of the process of becoming a widow. If so, I seem to have perfected it. So many questions, yet not enough answers.

I know God holds my hand. I know He will direct my path. However, I still feel so lost most days. The fog is starting to lift and the sun blankets the horizon with a warm glow. Hope is within grasp. But as of yet, I still do not have a firm grasp on the future. This is where faith takes the next step not knowing if the ground will hold but knowing who holds my life.

One step forward….and just maybe today only one step back.

Year One

May 10, 2016, was the one year mark since Woody’s death. That night I bawled for three hours until I finally found solace in sleep. It wasn't pretty; it was extremely messy, but I have learned that that is okay. I felt so much better afterwards. I am learning that my tears are not a sign of faltering faith or weakness. Jesus wept. He understands my pain like no other. Only He can truly comfort my broken heart. Although I felt bitterly alone during those hours as sobs wracked my body, I knew that I wasn’t. I pleaded with God to make the pain go away, and yet the sensation that my heart was being crushed didn’t cease. So I continued to wail.

I wish I could say it gets easier with time. I don't think that's the case. I believe we merely learn to live with the loss. Somehow the emptiness becomes part of the fabric of life and we continue moving forward. God will fill that hole completely full eventually, but the physical ache permeates our very being. However, the good days start to outnumber the bad days and the loss becomes less noticeable. We learn to laugh without Woody’s laughter joining ours. We learn to find strength without his supporting arms holding us up. We learn to live without his life.

Everyone keeps reminding me that we made it through all the firsts. But have we truly? There will always be firsts—first college graduation, first wedding, first grandchild…and the list goes on. I will live out a life full of happy occasions that Woody will not be able to celebrate with me. Yet, I must learn to be okay with that. I must look forward to what I have yet to receive rather than what I have lost.

Augustine defined evil to be a privation of a good—where good ought to be but isn’t. Many say that what happened to us that day on Mount Yonah was pure evil. However, even in that moment, there was still good. God held us and provided all the support we so desperately needed in that moment, and He has continued to hold us throughout this past year. Even in the midst of my deepest sorrow I have felt the comforting presence of my God. Although I know this anguish may never completely subside, I do know that somehow, some way we will survive and learn to find our way without Woody.

And now we begin the second year….

Mother's Day

Mother’s Day. I have dreaded it all year, but now it is here. How would I celebrate the day that reminds me of my greatest loss? Could I create new memories to bury the old? “What will you do come Mother’s Day?” The question was posed to me more than once, and each time, tears would spring to my eyes and my throat would constrict. I didn’t know. I couldn’t even imagine how I might survive it without being buried under a mountain of horrific memories. Memories of… the look in Woody’s eyes the last time I gazed into them…the scalp hanging from his skull…the paramedic's words as he confirmed my worst fear…standing in the parking lot at the trail head covered in blood and dust while tears streamed down my face knowing I had to call Woody’s mom on Mother’s Day and tell her that her son was dead. Yes, dreadful memories.

Yet, even while the inquiries came, God had a plan. I will never forget the day our pastor called to inform me that several people from the church wanted to ensure that we had a wonderful Mother’s Day weekend so they had made arrangements for us to stay in a beach house. I cried. I was so overwhelmed once more by God’s graciousness and the love of our church family. Once again, God has demonstrated His care for us. A Father to the fatherless, a defender of widows.

And so here we are, in Siesta Key, Florida, with perfect weather and perfect peace. Our days have been sun-drenched and full of laughter. Today we had brunch and wished that Woody were here to celebrate the day with us, but we did so without tears. We are surviving with God’s help. Thank you to all those who have supported us, loved us, and prayed for us! You are the body of Christ and we feel your embrace.

We know that Tuesday will be rough; however, just like today, God will provide exactly what we need in the moment we need it. And you—our extended family—will be standing in the gap continually loving….

Thank you from us all!

A Calling On My Life

I stood and watched as all the cheerful couples gathered in the church foyer laughing, engaging in casual conversation as they waited for the sanctuary doors to open so that they could flood into the room and begin worshiping our God. And I was angry….

I was supposed to be one half of a couple waiting without loneliness, without sorrow. We would have entered the church smiling, holding hands. Perhaps we would have gone to dinner beforehand with the kids and told corny jokes and made plans for Haley’s eighteenth birthday. Yet that is no longer my story. Although I keep trying to backspace and delete the last year of the tale which has been written, it has been keyed into a protected document and I cannot override it and edit the novel which has become my life.

The night of worship began with my tears—sobs really—until a woman whom I met this past Easter came out of the sanctuary and found me in the hallway. She held me and comforted me with sweet words and prayer while I sobbed in her arms. “Okay,” I finally breathed, “I can do this.”

As I reentered the sanctuary “Good, Good Father” played. It was one of the songs played at Woody’s celebration of life. “Yes, God, I know.  You are perfect in all of your ways, and I am loved by You.” Finally, worship permeated my breaking heart. As tears streamed down my face, I worshipped God.

It was in that very sacred moment He spoke to me quite clearly. I poured out my desires and my shattered dreams. I shared my loneliness, my brokenness, and He held my heart and gently began to open my eyes to His plan. “You are not meant for an earthly husband. I am to be Your husband. I will fill your days with love and comfort. I will support you. I will co-parent your children with you. Your life is mine. You are mine and there is no one on earth who will care for you better than I can. Right now, I am all you need. Give me your life and I will satisfy your every need.” I listened to these words and I knew He was right.

As I sat praying before communion, I knew that the choice was mine. God had given me an option, opened a door. Would I walk through it? The answer? Yes. As I dipped the bread into the cup I made the choice to follow God’s calling wherever it may lead. I chose to give my all to Him.

I will always miss Woody. I was so blessed to be his wife for as long as I was, but now I belong to God and will dedicate the days I have left bringing Him glory and sharing His love.