"Let us hope that we are all preceded by a love story." - Taken from the movie "Sweet Land"
"I've got to bring your dad to see this movie!" Audra and I had just seen the movie, "Up" in the theater sometime in June. I knew Chris would enjoy it, but there was a specific reason for bringing him. It was the story of Carl and Ellie. Here is their story:
They met when kids and were good friends, did some crazy stuff together, laughed a lot, and grew. They got married, dreamed of traveling, worked hard all of their lives, went on picnics at a certain spot, and grew old together. They lived in the same home for many years, and then Ellie dies and leaves Carl with great loss. But Carl eventually goes on a great adventure and lives out the dreams that they had dreamed together.
Chris and I met when we were kids and as we grew into adolescence, began talking more and more about life and interests. We started "going together" at ages 13 and 14. We got married at ages 18 and 19, moved to Colorado and lived there for 5 years. Moving back to Indiana, we raised our family, built a home, dreamed of traveling, worked very hard, and vacationed at certain places throughout our kids' growing years.
On the way home from the movie, I told Audra, "Your dad and I are Carl and Ellie! I can't wait to grow old together like them!"
Chris never saw the movie, for he died the next month and has left us all with great loss.
Monday, April 19th, will be Chris's first birthday in heaven. Here on earth he would have been 52, so our dreams of growing old together were not realized. I know, however, that we will spend eternity together, and that so brings comfort!
One our way out to Colorado for vacation, just 2 days before Chris died, I remember specifically looking at him two different times and thinking, "Thank you, Lord, for my husband." I shared this with Audra later in the Fall. She told me that she saw me when I looked at her dad that way. "Mom," she said, "I could always tell how much you loved Dad by the way you looked at him." I am so thankful that my kids have that relationship to remember as they think of us. Though way not perfect, we certainly did love each other.
My hope and prayer is that, like Carl, I will go on many adventures and realize some of our dreams, albeit without my Chris.
Thankful I am that my children were preceded by a love story.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Sunday, March 28, 2010
I always have a current response to my journal entry that was written in those first three months. This is a response that includes a journal entry of September 27th and my current response to it:
Pastor Brad spoke on grace and truth today-waves of grace was his phrase. Interesting, isn't it, that I had just compared crying and how it is like a wave that swells until it reaches its peak....waves of grief and waves of grace...hmm.
Waves of grief and waves of grace, one is not welcome, but the other is. Waves of grief come crashing down, unyielding, inconsolable, and unbearable. But then when we turn to Jesus, waves of grace upon waves of grace are available to bring surrender, consolation and hope. I'd rather have one and not the other, but I would not want waves of grief without having also experienced the waves of grace. As unbending and unsympathetic are the waves of grief, even more so are the waves of grace gentle, kind and comforting, giving strength to live through the grief that has so engulfed me.
Today, March 28th, 2010, those waves do not crash as often. It's now been 8 months and I miss him still so very much. The waves are more intermittent now and that is helpful. But as I speak of the intermittent waves, I am speaking of the waves of grief. Those waves of grace are still constant, faithful and relentless, just as God's love and just as the love of my husband was.
I can say that life is good because God is good. Life is not what was planned and has taken a cruel turn, but since I am one who has experienced and continues to experience, those waves of grace, I truly can say that life is good.
Waves of Grief and Running the Race
Posting from my journal entry of September 26th:
2 months ago today my husband went to be with the Lord. What can I say to that?
Today I ran the half marathon in Fort Wayne and accomplished my goal of 10 by 50 (ten half-marathons by the time I'm fifty). I dedicated this run to Chris, who was always so excited for me and supported me so well with my running. I did it, with help from the One who is greater. Along with Char, I did it!
Okay, so now I've lived two months without him. I could never explain to anyone what these two months have been like. Impossible! Crying has taken on a new depth. It is like a wave that swells until it reaches its peak and then crashes down on the shore, receding back into the ocean. Riding that wave has been neither a thrill, nor enjoyable. It has been painful, sorrowful and overwhelming.
I am so sad all the time. Even when I'm laughing, I am sad. This is not the future we had planned.
2 months ago today my husband went to be with the Lord. What can I say to that?
Today I ran the half marathon in Fort Wayne and accomplished my goal of 10 by 50 (ten half-marathons by the time I'm fifty). I dedicated this run to Chris, who was always so excited for me and supported me so well with my running. I did it, with help from the One who is greater. Along with Char, I did it!
Okay, so now I've lived two months without him. I could never explain to anyone what these two months have been like. Impossible! Crying has taken on a new depth. It is like a wave that swells until it reaches its peak and then crashes down on the shore, receding back into the ocean. Riding that wave has been neither a thrill, nor enjoyable. It has been painful, sorrowful and overwhelming.
I am so sad all the time. Even when I'm laughing, I am sad. This is not the future we had planned.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Raw Anger Revisited and Sanity Restored
Bill and Char told me today about a young woman at the YMCA who collapsed on the treadmill in cardiac arrest. She was right beside a firefighter who did all the right things--CPR, the use of the defibrillator they have there at the Y....she lives. I'm so very thankful that she lived-what a blessing for her and her family.
Chris collapsed in the middle of the night, and within seconds, a cardiac nurse was there doing all the right things, and within minutes, the EMTs shocked him twice...he died. So my question is this: Why did it work for the woman (and I'm very glad it did), but it did not work for my husband? He was not, nor had he, been doing anything strenuous. She was on a treadmill and lived. He was sleeping and died.
The anger I felt at the beginning toward Chris is not redirected toward anyone or anything. What happened to Chris is a result of his genetic condition. He was under the best care around and there is no rhyme or reason as to why he left now and not 20 or 30 years from now.
He did not choose to die by failing to tell me that he wasn't feeling well for 2 1/2 days. He was trying to save me from worrying and the group from a ruined vacation. Though his plans surely failed, he did not want to go when he did.
You know, my family went through 7 deaths in 7 months last year, Chris's being the over-the-top death for us, of course.
I have no words of wisdom, no grand life-changing insight, nothing to share that rocks this world, except this....
GOD LOVES ME.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
GOD LOVES ME. PERIOD.
Chris collapsed in the middle of the night, and within seconds, a cardiac nurse was there doing all the right things, and within minutes, the EMTs shocked him twice...he died. So my question is this: Why did it work for the woman (and I'm very glad it did), but it did not work for my husband? He was not, nor had he, been doing anything strenuous. She was on a treadmill and lived. He was sleeping and died.
The anger I felt at the beginning toward Chris is not redirected toward anyone or anything. What happened to Chris is a result of his genetic condition. He was under the best care around and there is no rhyme or reason as to why he left now and not 20 or 30 years from now.
He did not choose to die by failing to tell me that he wasn't feeling well for 2 1/2 days. He was trying to save me from worrying and the group from a ruined vacation. Though his plans surely failed, he did not want to go when he did.
You know, my family went through 7 deaths in 7 months last year, Chris's being the over-the-top death for us, of course.
I have no words of wisdom, no grand life-changing insight, nothing to share that rocks this world, except this....
GOD LOVES ME.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
GOD LOVES ME. PERIOD.
Anger in its Raw Form
August 26, 2009: It is exactly one month to the day that Chris died. He has been in heaven for one month. What is it like, Chris? What are you doing right now? Are you sleeping, as I should be doing (it's 1:44 a.m.)? Are you building something, hiking, running, singing to the Lord, on your face before Him, talking to your dad, my mom, playing with your child and grandchild, talking to someone like Keith Green, one of your favorite Christians of all time?
You know that I am annoyed sometimes that you are having such a great time while we are so miserable here. And it is just way too long until I see you.
August 30, 2009: You know, Chris, Allison told me about a dream she had. She and you were laughing together. She woke up and the words to the song "Parting Glass" were on her mind: "Good night and may joy be yours." "Parting Glass" is an Irish ballad sung by a man who is dying and speaking to those he is leaving behind--"Though it is my lot to go and not yours, Good night and may joy be yours."
Good night and may joy be mine? Is that what you would say to me? That makes me so angry! Easy for you to say! It gave Allison peace, but it did not have that effect on me. May joy be mine???? You can say that--you're up in heaven with more of an eternal perspective. I'm trying to remember to breathe my next breath or how to take my next step. May joy be mine? Tell me when and I'll take it as mine, but it sure isn't here and I can't see it! JOY??????
You know, I am really angry! Why, Chris, did you not tell me Wednesday night that you weren't feeling well? Why didn't you tell me on Thursday or Friday? Why did you wait until Saturday? You know, THAT might be the reason you died! They might have caught something before it happened, who knows? Are you happy now? Because we're sure miserable, all because you were trying to be so stupid about all of that. I had told you multiple times to not keep stuff like that to yourself! And you did it anyway! And look what happened! So much of the time I have been blaming myself for not even thinking about taking you to the ER on Saturday, but you didn't seem in distress! This wasn't my fault! This was your fault! Are you happy? I hope you're happy because somebody might as well be! Right???? Good night and may joy be yours all sounds so heroic and poetic, but it really pisses me off! You were not heroic, nor were you poetic about this whole thing! You were idiotic! There! I said it!!!
And grief is a helper? (My counselor friend suggested I think about that concept.) Well, I've thought about it and I'd just as soon do things myself, thank you! I could do without this whole grief thing! It totally sucks and I'm totally sick of grieving!
You know that I am annoyed sometimes that you are having such a great time while we are so miserable here. And it is just way too long until I see you.
August 30, 2009: You know, Chris, Allison told me about a dream she had. She and you were laughing together. She woke up and the words to the song "Parting Glass" were on her mind: "Good night and may joy be yours." "Parting Glass" is an Irish ballad sung by a man who is dying and speaking to those he is leaving behind--"Though it is my lot to go and not yours, Good night and may joy be yours."
Good night and may joy be mine? Is that what you would say to me? That makes me so angry! Easy for you to say! It gave Allison peace, but it did not have that effect on me. May joy be mine???? You can say that--you're up in heaven with more of an eternal perspective. I'm trying to remember to breathe my next breath or how to take my next step. May joy be mine? Tell me when and I'll take it as mine, but it sure isn't here and I can't see it! JOY??????
You know, I am really angry! Why, Chris, did you not tell me Wednesday night that you weren't feeling well? Why didn't you tell me on Thursday or Friday? Why did you wait until Saturday? You know, THAT might be the reason you died! They might have caught something before it happened, who knows? Are you happy now? Because we're sure miserable, all because you were trying to be so stupid about all of that. I had told you multiple times to not keep stuff like that to yourself! And you did it anyway! And look what happened! So much of the time I have been blaming myself for not even thinking about taking you to the ER on Saturday, but you didn't seem in distress! This wasn't my fault! This was your fault! Are you happy? I hope you're happy because somebody might as well be! Right???? Good night and may joy be yours all sounds so heroic and poetic, but it really pisses me off! You were not heroic, nor were you poetic about this whole thing! You were idiotic! There! I said it!!!
And grief is a helper? (My counselor friend suggested I think about that concept.) Well, I've thought about it and I'd just as soon do things myself, thank you! I could do without this whole grief thing! It totally sucks and I'm totally sick of grieving!
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."
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