The Good Wife

I was a good wife. I was his best friend. I was his confidant, his wise counsel, his encourager. I prayed for him daily, sometimes multiple times a day depending on what we were going through. I was praying for him the night he passed. I was a good wife.

I lifted him up, led him, tried to protect him. I spoke truth in love to him even though he didn't always want to hear it. I was his helper. I helped him raise his daughter. I helped him relate to his mother. I helped him pursue better opportunities career wise. I was a good wife.

Marriage is a process of sanctification. God uses your spouse to stretch you and mold you and teach you about yourself, each other, and bring you closer to Him. It's the most trying and beautiful experience, aside from purposeful parenting. It's what I always strived to do, to honor God and honor my husband through the ups and downs.

I wasn't perfect. No one is. I failed him a time or two. I hurt him, made him cry, brought him to his knees... we both did. We came to the brink, on the verge of divorce, but we found our strength in the Lord and held onto each other and pushed and pulled our way through it.

When I lost my focus and strayed from my faith he picked me up and brought me back to the Lord. He helped me find myself again. He loved me like Jesus and I will never forget that. I spent my time trying to be a good wife to him.

This is what I was made for... to be a good mother and wife. To minister to my family and lead them to Christ. To train up my son to be a humble, honest, wise man of God who will eventually be a good husband and father. To minister to my husband and lead him to have a deeper relationship with the Lord. To show grace and love and forgiveness to my family.

My biggest mission, more important than my work or other relationships, was this mission. I want God to look at me when my day comes and say, "Good job, good and faithful one." I tried. Everyday I tried. Some days were harder than others but I never lost hope. I never gave up on him. I was a good wife.

Now I'm a widow. I have a lot to offer and I feel like I'm wasting it away now. I still minister to my son and pour myself into my work and kiddos with special needs. I pour myself into other women at church. I pour myself into my church, volunteering as often as I can. But my calling to be a good wife is... gone? I was a good wife! How do you go from being a wife to being alone? I used to belong to someone. He cherished me, valued me, respected me. And it was mutual. He was mine and I was his and now I'm no one's. My heart longs to love and be loved. Not to replace him or because I can't be alone, but because I am a good wife! It's what I was called to do. At least that's how I feel.

I was called to be a good wife and a good mother and to minister to those with special needs. I'm fulfilling my calling in every other aspect except for this one area now and I don't know how to handle it. I don't know how to wait but I'm forced to.

My prayers over time have changed. During our marriage I prayed for my husband: for his health, his job demands, his character, his decisions, his battles with his demons, his ability to be a good husband & father, his safety, his soul. The night he passed (before I knew for sure) I prayed for him to either be okay or be taken quickly and without suffering. I prayed for God to have mercy on him. I prayed for his soul. I prayed for his journey home. Then I've been praying for myself and the kids: for strength for this new journey, for peace & comfort, for wisdom and guidance with all the decisions, for forgiveness for all the ugliness that grief brings out of people. God has answered my prayers time and time again and has done it in a way that is visible, palpable to me so I can discern His hand in everything.

Now I pray for patience. I'm fine on my own. I'm busy with work, I find joy each day, I have great friends and family to hang out with, I love my job and my kiddos  (clients), I'm a great mom, I pay my own bills and support myself and my son with my head held high. I don't NEED a man in a codependent, I'm lonely and trying to fill the void kind of way. If he's not a good man I'm better off without him and I have no problem waiting... but then again I do. I've never been a patient person, especially in a case like this where I went from being a good wife to being no one's helper overnight.

So I pray for patience and I pray for God to send me a good, Godly man who understands grief and loss. A man who won't be intimidated by my love for my husband but will be inspired by it. A man who will lift me up and be my helper like I will be to him. The way Mark and I were together. I'm not trying to recreate things or replace him. No one can replace him, ever. I just want a helper and to be a helper to a good man. I want to fulfill this ministry again. I'm horrible at waiting. I want to be a good wife again someday. Because I already was. I was a good wife.

Let It Be

What a weekend. I stayed so busy with my brother, who I don't see but 2 or 3 times a year, that I didn't have much time to think, or sulk, or wallow in my grief. I had my brother and my parents who were spoiling me, and him, because they were so proud and happy to have us all together. I let myself enjoy the moments, soak in the sun, and feel joy. I let myself escape my life and vacation like a rockstar.

Mark was on my mind every day. I remembered our trips to Chicago and smiled. I missed him and cried in the shower. And I felt like with every step I took, with every new memory I made, I was getting farther away from US and that made me sad but I held it all in. No one likes a killjoy on vacation. I got home late last night, put his urn in bed with me, snuggled up to his pillow, and bawled like a baby, like I could finally let it all out.

Today was his birthday so of course I cried this morning before church, bawled like a baby throughout church, and I'm bawling again now that the day has wound down. I put one foot in front of the other and get through the days, I take it all in and try not to take away from experiences, I try to find and feel joy every day, but the reality of it is sometimes it's harder than others. Evenings and nights are worse than days. Weekends alone are worse than weekends with the kids. Weeks suck because I have to push through work and push my brain to get out of the grief fog that I live in these days. Weekends suck because there's so much unstructured time. I look forward to Fridays because it's the end of the work week, but I hate Fridays because that's when he passed. I'm up and then down and I don't know which way I'm  going most of the time. It's been 5 months and it's getting harder instead of easier.

I miss my life. I miss my happiness that I didn't have to work so hard for. I miss my optimism. You know what I thought about this weekend? Death. Dying. Wills. What if the plane wrecks on landing? That's usually when it happens, you know. What if the uber driver gets in a wreck? Do I want a DNR? DNI? I need to write a will. What if there's a terroristic attack? What if a bird flies into the plane engine and we go down? LET IT BE. Don't worry, I'm not suicidal, I'm just not scared. And I miss my husband something serious. And if it means I get to go home to glory and be with him again then that's fine by me so just let it be.

I hate that he's gone. I hate that he left me! I hate that he broke me, broke my heart into a million pieces and broke my spirit. I hate that he took a good portion of my heart with him when he went and what's left behind is worthless. I hate that I feel like a toddler learning how to do life all over again and I'm 35. I hate that I'm 35 and feel like I'm at least...59. Yup, I feel 59.

I hate this. But it is what it is. It's lonely and ugly and up and down and hopeless and exhausting 95% of the time! But it is what it is so let it be. Whatever will be, will be I suppose.

Wait to Move

I keep mulling this over in my head over and over, trying to explain it but I can't, other than to say it's from God. It's too coincidental.

I've gotten things in order since Mark passed. All the loose ends are finally tied up and everything is solely in my name now. It's a relief to have it all done but then again it's sad and lonely. The last decision to be made is whether I stay in my house or move. We were renting but we wanted to buy within the next year or so. I've thought about moving forward with plans to buy so that I'm not wasting money on rent, but then again I think I should stay.

If I buy, it's mine. I can buy something quaint and do updates and upgrades to it and maybe make money on it. But then again, it will be mine, meaning if something happens it's on my shoulders and no one else's, financially. It's nice to have a maintenance man on call and the landlord foots the bill for major repairs. And then I think, what if I buy and then meet someone in the next few years and he has a house too...what would I do with mine? Or what if he doesn't but he has kids and my house is too small? Or what if I buy and don't meet anyone and want to move in 5 years when Issac leaves home? I don't know what to do! So, just like I've always done, when I don't know what to do I turn to God.

I prayed about it last Friday on the way home from work. I prayed out loud and asked God what to do. I told him I was going to wait and listen for him to show me, through signs or through people, and tell me what to do. I said point blank, tell me what to do, sign another year lease or go month to month and try to buy. You've never steered me wrong so I'll wait on you.

Sunday I was serving at church and got to talking with a girlfriend of mine, talking about furniture and jewelry, just making small talk. I complimented her earrings and she said the pastor's wife made them and that she's really crafty, she even refinishes furniture. She told me her name and I kept thinking, 'hmm that sounds really familiar' but I'm new to the church so I don't know too many people yet. And then it hit me. The pastor and his wife lived in my house last year, right before we moved in!

I've told people if I could LIVE at church right now I would. I want to be so close to God I'm rubbing shoulders with him if I can. Since I can't, I want to rub shoulders with those that have more faith than I do. I want to surround myself with the word and other believers to help me through this. All this time I've been living here in the very house they lived in. These walls have heard so many prayers, hosted so many believers, and the holy spirit has been in this place. To me, us coming to live here, following in their footsteps without knowing, walking where they have walked, is another way that God is protecting us. Like we're under his arm, right next to his heart, like a good father would protect his child from torrential rain.

I know they're human and broken and they have baggage and sin too but they've also got serious faith and are obviously called to a higher purpose and that's what I admire. And with that kind of faith I know God has been and continues to be in this place. So I don't have to live at the church, the church lived here and now I do too. If that's not God telling me to stay I don't know what is. He's saying, "Stay and rest a while, I've got you. You can feel me, I'm with you here, we'll figure out the rest later. I've got great plans for you."

So I'm staying for another year. Then I'll see what he wants me to do, where he wants me to go from there. How cool is that!?! Ask and you shall receive, you just gotta learn to wait and listen.

A Typical Saturday

Today was a typical Saturday. It almost felt like a normal Saturday, the kind of Saturday that existed before my D day. I slept in a little and then got up and started cleaning house. One thing led to another and I ended up reorganizing closets and cleaning out the car. I got a lot accomplished today. I ended the day vegging out on the couch watching tv and eating a blizzard. I got in bed around 10 pm after a hard day of cleaning and moving furniture. So feel me why I can't sleep. I'll tell you why...

It felt like a typical Saturday. The kind that existed before D day. It felt like Mark was working and then hanging out with friends while I stayed home and did my thing around the house. And now as I lie in bed without him it feels like he's going to come walking though the door any minute. Or he'll call me and say he's okay and he'll be home in a bit. But I know that's not the case.

My heart is playing tricks on me. It starts to float just a bit and then comes crashing down again like some cruel joke. The joke's on me I guess. He's not coming back. I never could sleep until he got home. I worried all the time until he was safe and sound and snoring loudly in our bed. I feel like I'm still waiting up for him! Damnit! Make it stop!

Rings

I've been going to Grief Share, a 13 week grief support group, and during one session we talked about our wedding rings. When do you stop wearing your ring after your spouse dies? When is the right time to put it away? Do you EVER put it away? The mentors said you'll know when the time is right and you'll know what to do with it when the time comes. I've thought a lot about it. Do I pass it down to Bub or JJ? Do I have the diamonds transferred into a memorial piece or earrings for me? Do I just put it in a keepsake box? What do I do with it?

Before all this I had actually stopped wearing my original wedding ring. Last summer Mark bought me a simple infinity band from James Avery because my big diamond ring scratched my kids at work. Then, when he passed, I only wanted to wear my original wedding ring and didn't want to take it off.

Then I took it off because I was mad at him for leaving me and the ring was a reminder that he promised to love me and live with me as long as we BOTH shall live and he didn't hold up his end of the deal.  Instead of my wedding ring I wore an emerald ring he bought for me. It was our birthstone and it was special because he gave it to me so it was still sentimental, just not a wedding ring.

Now I'm wearing it again and don't want to take it off. I don't know when I will and I still don't know what I'll do with it when I do but I have time to figure it out. Right now I just want him to be near me. I wear his ashes around my neck, his ring around my finger, and sometimes I wear his big daddy sized wedding band around my thumb (even though it's still too big) just to have my hands where his hands once were.

There are days I'm okay and then there are days when I come home, wash my hands with his body wash, wrap myself in his cologne stained robe, and sleep with his urn in my arms. Whether I have good days or bad days he's with me. He's always with me. Today I was running late and I forgot my necklace (with his ashes). I didn't realize it until noon when I went to touch it and it wasn't there. But I realized it's okay because he's always with me. I still had my ring on and him in my heart.

I'm rambling.  I guess my point was that they're right. I'll know when the time is right and I'll know what to do when that time comes. And you will too if you're in the same boat I'm in. Whether it's a wedding ring or family photos, you'll know when the time is right.

Pouring myself out

I'm sitting in my car at a neighborhood park, trying to work up the nerve to get out and socialize but the tears won't stop welling up in my eyes and the lump in my throat won't go away.

I'm meeting with other young couples from church in a community group. I met them a few weeks ago and shared my testimony and they were all so gracious and accepting. I'm pouring myself into relationships, moreso than before. I read somewhere that instead of looking at what I need from life, I should look at what life needs from me. So I'm pouring myself out as much as I can. I'm pushing myself to give of myself. And I can't lie, I'm hoping it'll help me move through this grieving also.

It's hard, especially right now as I watch them unload their strollers and their 4 and 5 year olds go frolicking in the field. They're my age. They have the life I wanted: the marriage, multiple kids, good jobs. That's what I signed up for...not THIS. I had Bub so young (21) that he's a teenager now and not up for picnics at the park with the littles anymore. So even though I fit in with the moms and dads age-wise, we are on totally different pages when it comes to the kids and now marriage/life.

It's sad because it's not just Mark that died on January 6th. My dreams died. My hopes for a baby died. My plans for the future died. Part of me died. So as I pour myself out I realize more and more how empty I am. This is hard as hell and I'm worn out. Dear God help me.

On the other side

I haven't written in a while. Maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it means I'm getting through this. It definitely doesn't mean I'm forgetting him or moving on although it is hard to remember every detail about him and that makes me sad. It's almost as if it wasn't really real, like it was just a dream being with him and being loved that much. I remember the big things but I can't remember everything like I want to. I guess that's the way it goes.

I made it through Valentine's day. I sent up a balloon with love notes to Heaven on it. Issac and I released it at the church and the youth pastor took pictures for us. That was a good day. I didn't have him here on earth with me but I felt his love. And it made me happy to see people showing their love the way Mark did on a regular basis.

The day after Valentine's was my crash day. I couldn't hold it together. It's like my systems were overwhelmed. But I pushed through it and made it through. Since then I've been doing better. I've gotten the kids on our weekend, even JJ, and it's been good to be with them. JJ is good for me because she reminds me of her daddy and I'm good for her because I help her process her pain and move through it. She's having a hard time getting through it and becomes paralyzed by sadness at points but I'm trying to teach her to keep God at her center, talk to him in those moments and say a short prayer to him, and literally move through the pain to the next moment, and then the next, and then the next. We walked through some things this weekend and it was great therapy and practice. And of course Bub made us laugh and enjoy life like he does.

Today is week 2 of Grief Share. My friend and I have invited other moms/widows that would benefit and like to go. It'll be fun to connect and share and hug the hurt away for a moment. I'm glad they're coming. I really feel like it'll help me, and them. I really wish JJ could do something like that but for teens because our meetings are geared towards adults and she would be out of place. I'm thinking about doing the workbook questions with her like I did this past weekend. It'll help her process her grief. Maybe I can find something for her.

That's the thing about grief...you can't deny it or stuff it down because it'll explode like a shaken up soda when there's too much pressure. You have to process it and move through it to the other side of each moment. If you sit in it for too long it will consume you and you'll fall into the pit of despair, unable to dig your way out again. I'm paraphrasing but I read this in my Jesus Calling devotional last week, "Be careful not to fall into the pit of self-pity. Don't even go near the edge because the edges crumble beneath your feet. When you feel yourself getting close to the edge because of circumstances in your life seek Me (God) and find peace in me." Being sad or troubled is normal. Life sucks sometimes. But the good thing is that God meets us where we are, right in the middle of it. BUT, he loves us too much to leave us there. If you're struggling with something, grief or otherwise, let him hold your hand and walk you (or pull you) through. Don't just stay there, there's so much more on the other side. Love you!