Tick Tock, Tick Tock

A year ago tomorrow morning (March 7) my beloved husband’s brave battle with leukemia ended.

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A year ago tonight I had no idea that tomorrow would be the last day I had him in my life.

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A year ago our sweet children were all gathered around their precious father …. sharing memories; sharing their love; sharing their strength; sharing their good byes.

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A year ago our precious two year old grandson climbed up on his Grampy’s bed and showered him with love.

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A year ago I kissed my husband for the very last time …. I wiped his brow, I whispered encouraging words, I told him how much I loved him.

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And then …. all of a sudden he was gone.    He drew his last labored breath, smiled, and he was gone.   

The clock stopped.
There was no sound.  

The clock stopped.

There was no time; there was nothing but time.   

The clock stopped.

There was emptiness.

Now, a year later, I continue to be amazed by the journey of grief.   Grief is a rich, living, breathing entity.  Grief is a gift that God gives us that enables us to cope with the losses we experience during our human journey.   

Grief Numbs Us.   At first, grief covers us with a numbness that protects us from absorbing the totality of our our beloved’s passing.   We are in a fog, a daze.   We move, we act, we interact, but it is all through the fog of grief.   We come to find out too quickly that the numbness goes away way too soon.   

Slowly, the numbness wears off and more and more of the reality of our loss creeps in.   Sounds start to return …. senses start to reemerge …. life keeps knocking on our door even though we believe we’ve posted our “Do Not Disturb” sign.    

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Slowly the clock starts back up.   We have a sense of time again.   Time to take care of the funeral.   Time to take care of the family.   Time to take care of the “business” of dying.   Time to ...what????

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Time to what?????   What do I do with my time?   What do I do with all this stuff?   What do I do without him?   What do I do with the rest of my life?

The clock seems to grow ever louder …. echoing around the empty house; the empty life.   We feel the need to act, to do something, to solve the puzzle.   But, we can’t.   We simply can’t.   No amount of action is going to “fix” things.   No amount of decisions is going to “change” things.   It is simply time to “be still” and let the blanket of grief cover our wounds and keep us warm while we heal, while we cry, while we slowly learn to accept the realities.

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There is only time.

In time we learn to breath again.   In time we learn to laugh again.   In time we learn to accept our loss and to fully celebrate our loved one’s home-going.   We NEVER stop missing them.   We NEVER stop loving them.   We NEVER stop wishing, to some degree, that they were still here with us.   

Slowly and surely we come to truly accept that they have gone home to Jesus and their loved ones who went before them.   The more time I’ve spend in this piece of reality; in knowing that Len IS with our Heavenly Father, the more peace-filled I have become.   I KNOW that he is well, he is healed, he is strong, and he is happy beyond our ability to comprehend.   Talk about a snuggly blanket of peace …. there is nothing like it.  Slowly we get back about our lives -- we slowly recognize what things, activities, people make us happy, make us feel alive, make us feel as though we still have relevance.   I think that may be the hardest part -- is finding our relevance --- at least it has been for me.    After all, I didn’t ASK for this change … I just wanted my “old” life back!

“I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”   John 14:18

God doesn’t abandon us in our darkest night.   He is with us every second of our grief journey.  He is there comforting us, protecting us, and when the time is right, encouraging us to open up to the next phase of his plan for us.   

What a concept!   What an awareness!   We DIDN’T die with our loved one, we are still here which means that our God is NOT done with us yet.   He has a plan for us … a plan that is better than we can imagine.

Here I stand …. one year later …. amazed (but not surprised) that my God has carried me when I couldn’t walk, led me when all I wanted to do was curl up under my bed, and now?  Now he has been revealing to me what he needs from me!   Amazing!    

About a week ago I realized that I had a choice of how I approached and experienced this first anniversary.   I had two choices:  I could be miserable and sad and filled with darkness, or I could choose to celebrate my husband’s home-going and my faith in a God who is so merciful and loving.   Needless to say, I have chosen to celebrate!   

So, Happy Home-Going my precious husband.   I know that you are basking in the presence of our Lord and that you are at peace.   I miss you terribly, and look forward to the day when we will be together again for eternity.   We are all fine, but you know that.