Saturday, January 23, 2010
Reflections on The Great Sorrow
It's now January 23, 2010. "The Great Sorrow" has not left me and I don't know if she ever will. I realize that now. It's not that I go around down in the mouth.
In the past six months, I ran my 10th half-marathon, completing a goal of "10 by 50," remodeled my kitchen, living room and bedroom, traveled to Florida, made it through the holidays, have spent hours working out with friends and spending good times with my children.
But it also has been an emotional roller coaster, looking upward and anticipating one moment, and then spiralling downward with my heart in my throat. I've laughed till I cried. I've wept till there were no more tears left. I've been so angry that I've yelled at the heavens, mostly at my husband for leaving me. I've surrendered and taken back that surrender. I've praised and worshipped. I've been silently distant. I've blamed myself and obsessed over that blame, only to just let it go. I've suffered watching my children suffer. I breathe sighs of relief as I see them progress.
How long this will last I do not know. Six months ago today we left for Colorado, celebrating our 32nd anniversary on that day of preparation and travel, not knowing it would be our last.
My thankfulness, however, for 32 years, will never change. I remember on the way out to Colorado, specifically looking two different times at Chris and thinking, "Thank you, Lord, for my husband." This Fall, when I related that to Audra, my 18-year-old, she told me that she always knew that I loved her dad by the way I looked at him. My children have a precious gift in that and that will always to me be a "Great Joy."
In the past six months, I ran my 10th half-marathon, completing a goal of "10 by 50," remodeled my kitchen, living room and bedroom, traveled to Florida, made it through the holidays, have spent hours working out with friends and spending good times with my children.
But it also has been an emotional roller coaster, looking upward and anticipating one moment, and then spiralling downward with my heart in my throat. I've laughed till I cried. I've wept till there were no more tears left. I've been so angry that I've yelled at the heavens, mostly at my husband for leaving me. I've surrendered and taken back that surrender. I've praised and worshipped. I've been silently distant. I've blamed myself and obsessed over that blame, only to just let it go. I've suffered watching my children suffer. I breathe sighs of relief as I see them progress.
How long this will last I do not know. Six months ago today we left for Colorado, celebrating our 32nd anniversary on that day of preparation and travel, not knowing it would be our last.
My thankfulness, however, for 32 years, will never change. I remember on the way out to Colorado, specifically looking two different times at Chris and thinking, "Thank you, Lord, for my husband." This Fall, when I related that to Audra, my 18-year-old, she told me that she always knew that I loved her dad by the way I looked at him. My children have a precious gift in that and that will always to me be a "Great Joy."
This Great Sorrow
August 14th and August 18th, 2009:
Grief is like breaking open a raw egg on top of something. It pours out at first and then seeps down and permeats the rest of the container. Grief has been poured out on me and even when I'm having a "decent" day, it still has invaded every crack and crevice of my heart, my mind and my soul.
Grief is like a piece of tender meat that is being pounded with a meat tenderizer. It becomes pulverized. That is how my heart feels, as if it is being pulverized, hanging in shreds, a lump in my chest, numb at times, with no feeling whatsoever, and inscruciatingly painful at other times.
This Sorrow does not leave. This Great Sorrow is my constant companion. I have not learned to embrace her yet. I wonder if there will be a time we will become close friends. With such friends, who needs enemies, right? Yet, there is a comfort in her companionship. I don't know why. Perhaps because Great Sorrow knows and feels my pain while she is traveling alongside me. She gives me allowance to be myself and work through the process. I think she wants to draw closer to me, but I am still holding her at arm's length. This is just way too painful to accept. I can't face acceptance at this point.
Grief is like breaking open a raw egg on top of something. It pours out at first and then seeps down and permeats the rest of the container. Grief has been poured out on me and even when I'm having a "decent" day, it still has invaded every crack and crevice of my heart, my mind and my soul.
Grief is like a piece of tender meat that is being pounded with a meat tenderizer. It becomes pulverized. That is how my heart feels, as if it is being pulverized, hanging in shreds, a lump in my chest, numb at times, with no feeling whatsoever, and inscruciatingly painful at other times.
This Sorrow does not leave. This Great Sorrow is my constant companion. I have not learned to embrace her yet. I wonder if there will be a time we will become close friends. With such friends, who needs enemies, right? Yet, there is a comfort in her companionship. I don't know why. Perhaps because Great Sorrow knows and feels my pain while she is traveling alongside me. She gives me allowance to be myself and work through the process. I think she wants to draw closer to me, but I am still holding her at arm's length. This is just way too painful to accept. I can't face acceptance at this point.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Reflections on Grief In Its Raw Form
You know, when I say that we had been together for 37 years, you would think that we were in our late 60s, at least.
How can a couple who has seen only 50 and 51 years claim 37 years together? I like to say I was 2 years old when we got started, but....We were in junior high when we started "liking each other," or whatever it is you call it in junior high! I was 13 and Chris was 14. We stayed together all through high school, except for one month in my senior year. I had just bought a 1972 Vega GT and had taken Chris for a ride in it. Before he got out of the car, he told me he wanted to break up. I then proceeded to push him out of the car (literally!), which obviously did not go over very well. After one month he decided he didn't like the "single" life and asked me to get back together. Pathetically, within a heartbeat, I said yes. Two weeks later I said yes again when he asked me to marry him.
We were married at ages 18 and 19 and that is how we can claim so many years together!
It is now five months since my first journal posting. I still have those moments of that "inner wailing." But the pain is not quite so intense and raw, definitely still there, but there has been some healing.
I still don't know what this chapter of my life should be entitled and maybe, probably, I won't for awhile. I have no idea what my future holds and it still doesn't seem very exciting to me. I do not want a future without Chris, but I have no choice!
"Who am I?" "What is my purpose?" "Am I making a difference?" These are all questions one asks themselves in midlife. I am revisiting those all over again and when I (if I) get the answers, I'll let you know.
In the meantime, I'm trying to make the best out of a really crappy situation. I'm living my life, working, which entails visitations, teaching Bible studies, office work, counseling. I'm working out 3-5 times a week, taking care of my home and trying my best to help my children through this (which is another future posting), spending time with my amazing friends, enjoying their company more than they know.
But I still feel very lost, engulfed in this vast wilderness of grief, searching for my identity, wandering around, trying to find my way to wherever.
How can a couple who has seen only 50 and 51 years claim 37 years together? I like to say I was 2 years old when we got started, but....We were in junior high when we started "liking each other," or whatever it is you call it in junior high! I was 13 and Chris was 14. We stayed together all through high school, except for one month in my senior year. I had just bought a 1972 Vega GT and had taken Chris for a ride in it. Before he got out of the car, he told me he wanted to break up. I then proceeded to push him out of the car (literally!), which obviously did not go over very well. After one month he decided he didn't like the "single" life and asked me to get back together. Pathetically, within a heartbeat, I said yes. Two weeks later I said yes again when he asked me to marry him.
We were married at ages 18 and 19 and that is how we can claim so many years together!
It is now five months since my first journal posting. I still have those moments of that "inner wailing." But the pain is not quite so intense and raw, definitely still there, but there has been some healing.
I still don't know what this chapter of my life should be entitled and maybe, probably, I won't for awhile. I have no idea what my future holds and it still doesn't seem very exciting to me. I do not want a future without Chris, but I have no choice!
"Who am I?" "What is my purpose?" "Am I making a difference?" These are all questions one asks themselves in midlife. I am revisiting those all over again and when I (if I) get the answers, I'll let you know.
In the meantime, I'm trying to make the best out of a really crappy situation. I'm living my life, working, which entails visitations, teaching Bible studies, office work, counseling. I'm working out 3-5 times a week, taking care of my home and trying my best to help my children through this (which is another future posting), spending time with my amazing friends, enjoying their company more than they know.
But I still feel very lost, engulfed in this vast wilderness of grief, searching for my identity, wandering around, trying to find my way to wherever.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Grief In Its Raw Form
August 6, 2009
So, how am I to live my life now without Chris? Who will the new "me" be? Will I like the new me? Do I want there to be a new me? I liked it when it was "us." It has been "Chris and Brenda" for 37 years now. How can it now only be "Brenda?" My "other" has been disconnected.
I will get through all of this financial stuff. I will get through the thank you notes. I will get through all of the sympathetic looks. I will send out all of the death certificates that are needed. Life will go on.
So what will this chapter in my book of life be entitled? What are some of the chapters in my book entitled now? "God's Grace/Forgetting What's Behind" "God's Grace Through Mom's Attempts at a Happy Family" God's Grace/Mom's Legacy" "God's Grace/Chris and Brenda's Beginnings" "God's Grace/My Rescuer" "God's Grace Through My Marriage" "God's Grace Shown Through My Children" "God's Grace in Changing our Marriage" God's Grace and Loving My Husband" Now-"God's Grace and Loss?" "God's Grace Through My Great Sorrow?" "God's Grace, Now What?"
My book of life: what legacy am I leaving my children? I am so tired just thinking of my future. It looks very boring.
August 8, 2009
I had a dream that I was looking out a window. But, instead of the window, there was just a screen in place of the window. It was early in the morning, just before dawn. I was waiting for Chris, and I said, "Hurry home, Chrissy." then I realized he's not coming home and I started to cry.
Grief is a strange occurrence in one's life. You can be dry-eyed one moment, not "okay," but without tears, then within a split moment, for whatever reason, the tears start flowing. And then, it's not only tears, but tremors that build into an earthquake, coming from the very innermost part of your soul. There is an inner wailing that erupts and continues until every part of you is spent.
I went to see "Mercy Me" in concert last night at the Tin Caps Stadium. The Zehrs, Staleys, Adams, Links, Audra, Derek, Beth and Val were all there. I felt that silent inner wailing rise up as the lead singer preached. It's very embarassing for that to happen in public, a bit disconcerting, but this is my life now. And what amazing friends I have as they comforted the best they knew.
It's now 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and I would normally be looking forward to 8:45 when Chris would walk through the door. I had a countdown every Friday and Saturday morning. But that is not to be.
And, yet, I know he is happy. I know that, given the opportunity, he would not want to come back to this part of his eternal existence. I know that I will see him again and for eternity, but it seems an eternity before that happens.
(to be continued)
So, how am I to live my life now without Chris? Who will the new "me" be? Will I like the new me? Do I want there to be a new me? I liked it when it was "us." It has been "Chris and Brenda" for 37 years now. How can it now only be "Brenda?" My "other" has been disconnected.
I will get through all of this financial stuff. I will get through the thank you notes. I will get through all of the sympathetic looks. I will send out all of the death certificates that are needed. Life will go on.
So what will this chapter in my book of life be entitled? What are some of the chapters in my book entitled now? "God's Grace/Forgetting What's Behind" "God's Grace Through Mom's Attempts at a Happy Family" God's Grace/Mom's Legacy" "God's Grace/Chris and Brenda's Beginnings" "God's Grace/My Rescuer" "God's Grace Through My Marriage" "God's Grace Shown Through My Children" "God's Grace in Changing our Marriage" God's Grace and Loving My Husband" Now-"God's Grace and Loss?" "God's Grace Through My Great Sorrow?" "God's Grace, Now What?"
My book of life: what legacy am I leaving my children? I am so tired just thinking of my future. It looks very boring.
August 8, 2009
I had a dream that I was looking out a window. But, instead of the window, there was just a screen in place of the window. It was early in the morning, just before dawn. I was waiting for Chris, and I said, "Hurry home, Chrissy." then I realized he's not coming home and I started to cry.
Grief is a strange occurrence in one's life. You can be dry-eyed one moment, not "okay," but without tears, then within a split moment, for whatever reason, the tears start flowing. And then, it's not only tears, but tremors that build into an earthquake, coming from the very innermost part of your soul. There is an inner wailing that erupts and continues until every part of you is spent.
I went to see "Mercy Me" in concert last night at the Tin Caps Stadium. The Zehrs, Staleys, Adams, Links, Audra, Derek, Beth and Val were all there. I felt that silent inner wailing rise up as the lead singer preached. It's very embarassing for that to happen in public, a bit disconcerting, but this is my life now. And what amazing friends I have as they comforted the best they knew.
It's now 8 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and I would normally be looking forward to 8:45 when Chris would walk through the door. I had a countdown every Friday and Saturday morning. But that is not to be.
And, yet, I know he is happy. I know that, given the opportunity, he would not want to come back to this part of his eternal existence. I know that I will see him again and for eternity, but it seems an eternity before that happens.
(to be continued)
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Beachhead of Grace
As I began this new year, something happened inside of me that was momentous, or at least a moment that will affect my perspective for the rest of the year.
That moment was the thought, "It's time to look ahead." For the past 5+ months, I have been spending my waking, sleeping and all hours in-between looking back, remembering, reflecting and grieving. But that morning, January 1, 2010, I realized that it was time to turn a corner. The reflecting, grieving, remembering--all will still continue, but at the same time, I will choose to anticipate, plan and hope.
The day that changed my life on this side of eternity was Sunday morning, July 26th. The time was 3:30 a.m. The place was Estes Park, Colorado. My husband, Chris, and three of my four children and I had just arrived the previous day with 9 other people for a week of hiking, touring, laughing and enjoying the beauty of those amazing mountains.
I was awakened at 3:30 by my husband's snores. As I drifted out of my sleep mode, I realized that those snores were unusual, and after the fourth one, he stopped. I turned over and tried to awaken him, but he would not stir.
I called for our best friends, Bill and Char Adams, who were in the same room with us, telling them that something was wrong. Bill is an MRI technician and Char is a cardiac nurse. Immediately, they turned the light on, pulled back his covers and recognized he was in distress....They lifted him to the floor to administer CPR while I frantically phoned 911 and called out for our other friends in the home to get up and pray.
Chris never regained consciousness and was pronounced dead at 4:22 a.m. in the Estes Park Medical Clinic. My three children and I left that day to come home with our lives and our future turned upside down. Chris was 51 years old and died as a result of a genetic heart condition. Though in excellent shape otherwise, his enlarged heart did not enable him the long life we had been anticipating.
These past five months have been the most difficult we have ever encountered. Chris and I were married 32 years and I had always told him he was the best man I knew. We deeply loved each other and that love will be realized again when I see him in heaven. But for now I must wait.
My hope for this blog is that this part of my journey can be chronicled and maybe help someone else who is experiencing difficulties, as well.
If someone actually reads this, you might wonder why I entitled my blog "The Beachhead of Grace." This phrase actually came to me when I was writing a contemporary psalm for a special service at our church, which was open to anyone to share.
I will post the psalm separately, but for the purpose of my introduction, that phrase was a response to a sermon that our pastor had given one Sunday. The night before that particular Sunday I had journalled about the waves of grief that had overwhelmed me. In the sermon the next day, our pastor spoke on "waves of grace," and I could see then that His waves of grace vastly overrode my waves of grief. And in my poem that I wrote later I recognized that God had established a beachhead of grace on the shores of my heart. I know that that beachhead cannot be overrun or overcome by anything that is sent my way.
In this blog, I have decided to post my journal, which I had entitled "Grief in its Raw Form." If you ever want to know how someone is feeling after a painful loss, my hope is that this journal will help you empathize perhaps a bit better and that you will be able to help that person in his or her journey as a result. This is, exactly as titled, a raw rendering of my grief and I am placing myself in a conditiion of vulnerability, which is somewhat disconcerting....
But, here goes!
That moment was the thought, "It's time to look ahead." For the past 5+ months, I have been spending my waking, sleeping and all hours in-between looking back, remembering, reflecting and grieving. But that morning, January 1, 2010, I realized that it was time to turn a corner. The reflecting, grieving, remembering--all will still continue, but at the same time, I will choose to anticipate, plan and hope.
The day that changed my life on this side of eternity was Sunday morning, July 26th. The time was 3:30 a.m. The place was Estes Park, Colorado. My husband, Chris, and three of my four children and I had just arrived the previous day with 9 other people for a week of hiking, touring, laughing and enjoying the beauty of those amazing mountains.
I was awakened at 3:30 by my husband's snores. As I drifted out of my sleep mode, I realized that those snores were unusual, and after the fourth one, he stopped. I turned over and tried to awaken him, but he would not stir.
I called for our best friends, Bill and Char Adams, who were in the same room with us, telling them that something was wrong. Bill is an MRI technician and Char is a cardiac nurse. Immediately, they turned the light on, pulled back his covers and recognized he was in distress....They lifted him to the floor to administer CPR while I frantically phoned 911 and called out for our other friends in the home to get up and pray.
Chris never regained consciousness and was pronounced dead at 4:22 a.m. in the Estes Park Medical Clinic. My three children and I left that day to come home with our lives and our future turned upside down. Chris was 51 years old and died as a result of a genetic heart condition. Though in excellent shape otherwise, his enlarged heart did not enable him the long life we had been anticipating.
These past five months have been the most difficult we have ever encountered. Chris and I were married 32 years and I had always told him he was the best man I knew. We deeply loved each other and that love will be realized again when I see him in heaven. But for now I must wait.
My hope for this blog is that this part of my journey can be chronicled and maybe help someone else who is experiencing difficulties, as well.
If someone actually reads this, you might wonder why I entitled my blog "The Beachhead of Grace." This phrase actually came to me when I was writing a contemporary psalm for a special service at our church, which was open to anyone to share.
I will post the psalm separately, but for the purpose of my introduction, that phrase was a response to a sermon that our pastor had given one Sunday. The night before that particular Sunday I had journalled about the waves of grief that had overwhelmed me. In the sermon the next day, our pastor spoke on "waves of grace," and I could see then that His waves of grace vastly overrode my waves of grief. And in my poem that I wrote later I recognized that God had established a beachhead of grace on the shores of my heart. I know that that beachhead cannot be overrun or overcome by anything that is sent my way.
In this blog, I have decided to post my journal, which I had entitled "Grief in its Raw Form." If you ever want to know how someone is feeling after a painful loss, my hope is that this journal will help you empathize perhaps a bit better and that you will be able to help that person in his or her journey as a result. This is, exactly as titled, a raw rendering of my grief and I am placing myself in a conditiion of vulnerability, which is somewhat disconcerting....
But, here goes!
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