The Tangled Skein

As I knit and pull the yarn from the skein,

Sometimes I discover a terrible tangle.

The yarn should pull out easily from

The center of the skein…and does not.

 

My husband was expert at undoing tangles.

He did not knit, but he unknotted,

Untwisted and straightened out,

Allowing me to move forward.

 

I went to him with things other than knitting.

We talked about my life tangles.

What should have been easy to resolve,

Sometimes was not.

 

He was expert at listening, questioning.

He was my sounding board,

Giving clarity in the convoluted maze.

His insights helped me to move forward.

 

Now as I pull on the yarn of my life.

The skein looks good on the surface.

The knots and tangles are inside,

And I miss my expert untangler.

 

My helper himself turned to an Almighty God,

Omniscient and aware of all the knots.

It has always been the divine Hand,

Straightening the tangled skein of my life.

 

My dearest love’s hand is no longer with me,

But the divine Hand can never be lost.

 

Here I Am

Here I am alone in the darkness,

No hand near mine to hold,

No embrace wards off the cold.

 

Here I am alone with my questions,

No answer to my “why?”

No one to hear me cry.

 

Here I am struggling painfully forward,

Is there a path ahead for me,

A future yet to be?

 

Here I am so weak, flawed and broken,

Will my wounded heart be mended,

God’s healing power extended?

 

Here I am….

In the Bag Check LIne

As I write this, I am flying between San Jose and Atlanta.  Both the bag check and security check lines were unusually long this morning, providing me with ample time for people watching.  So many different people exist in this world, and each one has his own story.  As I stood there, I had no idea what anyone was thinking…what his/her current joys or sorrows might be.  Unless, of course, someone was to engage me in conversation.

The man in front of me in the bag check line appeared to be sixty-ish.  He was neatly dressed and had a mustache that twirled up on the ends into a point. He had a couple of pieces of luggage and a brown paper sack.  As I entered the line and stood behind him, he said, “Do you fly much?”

I told him that I flew 3-4 times a year, although I was thinking that the number of times I fly could now be different with my husband gone.  Will I fly more or less?  I didn’t say all that.  It just passed quickly through my thoughts.

He said that I at least flew more than he did.  He wondered if I could tell him if he was in the correct line.  Did he have to go to the counter, even though he had checked in online?  Well, yes, he did, since he needed to drop off the bags he was planning to check.

Thus began an interesting chat during which I discovered he had lost his wife about a month before I lost Bill.  She had had breast cancer four years earlier, but then learned it had spread.  She was in pain and had difficulty breathing.  Eventually, she had hospice care.  He had not understood that meant there was nothing more that could be done.  Her loss has caused him much grief.  He had to move her picture from the hall.  He couldn’t bear to look at it as frequently as he passed it.

He talked about the happiness she brought into his life.  There were ways in which they were very different and other ways in which they shared interests for the 36 years of their marriage and the two years before that when they knew each other.

I totally understood.

By this time, we were called to the counter and I could not delve any further into whether he or she knew Jesus or had the comfort He provides.  I looked for him in the TSA line and later at the gate.  I didn’t see him until we were in the boarding process, and then it was at a distance.  Perhaps, all I was assigned to do was to offer my sympathy and understanding.

I don’t know his name, but I pray the man with the twirly mustache I met in the bag check line will come to know the peace only God can give.

Later….in my second flight of the day, I sat next to a young woman who was not very communicative.  She dozed or listened to music, so conversation was non-existent…. except as we landed.  It turned out she was a widow with young children.  She lost her husband 8 years ago when the kids were 2 and 4.  Her mother-in-law is an enormous help.

So much pain and loss in this world, and I understand it so deeply.

My Aura

I ran into a friend who said, “You miss your husband, don’t you?”

I thought it was obvious that I would, and I replied, “I miss him terribly.”

She said, “I can tell…there is an aura about you.”

What?

Can she see it?

I thought I was exuding a positive attitude!

Can she really see the ragged, bleeding edges where part of my self was ripped away?

It was not a clean surgical cut that could easily be sutured by time and good thoughts.

But…

I have done my best to exercise faith in a loving God.

Do I carry a gray aura of grief,

Or loneliness,

Or sadness?

Can everyone see it?

When they ask how I’m doing and I say that I am doing well,

Do they believe me?

I am not silly and empty-headed.

I cannot brush off tragedy as of no account.

But I will survive.

I will ponder and pray.

I will be transparent.

Perhaps slowly and in tiny increments,

My aura will change.

Perhaps, one day,

I will again be joyful,

And my aura be golden.

 

 

Silent Sob

Silent snowflakes fall to earth,

Leaves float gently down.

A tear drops from a wrinkled cheek,

But no one hears a sound.

 

My heart is shattered, broken.

My thoughts are incoherent.

A sob, a scream well up within,

But no one else can hear it.

 

Death snatched away my dearest love.

In vain I call his name.

His voice, his touch have disappeared,

And nothing is the same.

Quo Vadis?

While staying at my daughter’s house post Hurricane Ian, I have done lots of knitting, but I thought it was a good time to do some reading too.  I pulled Quo Vadis off her bookshelf, knowing it was a classic and having some vague idea that it dealt with the Roman Empire.  I guess my clue was the title in Latin, which means “where are you going?”  I did not realize the extent to which it is a romance.

The story is set in the first century during the time of Nero, who is portrayed as a nasty and unstable tyrant.  Living in this era, is Marcus Vinitius a wealthy young member of the aristocracy.  While visiting another aristocratic family, he catches a glimpse of a beautiful young woman named Ligia.  She is a member of royalty in a European tribe, and has been brought to Rome as a captive, although not a slave.  She lives with the aristocratic family as a sort of foster child.  The mother in the family Pomponia is a follower of Christ, and Ligia becomes one also.

Initially Vinitius’ interest in Ligia is motivated totally by lust because of her beauty.  He scorns the Christians, as do many Roman citizens.  Over the course of the story, he gradually and with much struggle comes to realize the truth and value of the Christian faith and becomes a Christian himself.  This changes his entire attitude towards Ligia, and he comes to love her in a genuine way.

This is a long book and is heavy into both philosophy and theology.  Petronius, who is Vinitius’ uncle, is a man of culture and good taste.  He is educated and witty and unflappable.  He has no use for Christianity and steeps himself in pleasures.  He is a confidant of Nero.  His discussions with Vinitius about his changing attitudes and with Nero allow for much of the philosophical discussion in the book.  Later in the book both Peter and Paul are introduced.  Their interactions and the contrast between them and the very judgmental Crispus help to define the theology of the book.

As Nero descends into madness, Rome is burned either at his suggestion or direction.  Which is not clear.  But, it is decided to blame the Christians.   Ligia is caught up in the persecution, and Vinitius is desperate to find a way to save her.  Nero knows of his love for her and delights in taunting Vinitius and watching his agony.  The horrors of this time for Christians are described in gory detail, as Nero and his advisor Tigellinus think up increasingly terrifying ways to kill Christians.

Although she nearly dies in prison and does end up in the arena, Ligia is spared in a miraculous way.  Petronius is eventually forced to commit suicide with no indication that he ever comes to faith in Christ.

The theology presented in the book is in keeping with scripture.  The one bit that is uncomfortable to me is that it is a set-up for the papacy being centered in Rome and Rome being viewed as the capital of the church, just as Rome was viewed as the capital of the secular world.

The author of Quo Vadis, Henryk Sienkiewicz, is a masterful writer.  His descriptions put the reader in the setting surrounded with input from all of one’s senses.  His dialog as Petronius debates and discusses is very thought provoking.  One ponders:  What is beauty? What is art? What is truth?  What is to be most valued in life?  Is there life beyond this one?  Is flattery ever warranted?  What does real love look like? Should one meekly accept one’s fate or fight it?  And a host of other questions.

This was a book worth reading, even considering the difficulty presented by my current blurred and double vision.

My Plans vs God's Plans

A man’s heart plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps.    Proverbs 16:9

 

I had planned to ride out the uncomfortable aftermath of Hurricane Ian in my apartment without water, power or air-conditioning.  My children did not agree with this plan and made some plans of their own to extract me.  I had no say in this.

Yesterday, my son called me concerned that I had felt “strong-armed.”  Well, yes…I was strong-armed, but that doesn’t mean that I was angry or resentful.  I have lived 77 years, and I have learned that we can and should make plans, but we need to realize that our plans may not always be realized.  I have learned that God uses circumstances and other people to alter our plans, and when that happens, we need to realize it may well be His way of directing us.

 

It was not my plan to marry a businessman.  I was figuring on a doctor, missionary or college professor.  But, I had nearly 54 wonderful years with a CEO who was a man of exceptional kindness and integrity.

I was not planning on a pregnancy in my forties.  We had three teenage daughters and thought we would soon have an “empty nest.”  But, I have an amazing son planned by God.

I had not planned to leave a church I had attended over 30 years.  The leaving was terribly painful, but I could write a book about the blessings that resulted from what appeared horrible at the time.

I had not planned to lose my husband May 16^th of this year.  I had planned we would continue to grow old together for at least another 10 years.  I can’t yet understand why this happened, and I don’t know what good will come of it, but God does.

I will continue to make plans, but I will continue to delight in God’s provision for me.  I may be disappointed when things don’t go my way.  I may be sad enough to cry every day, as has happened with the loss of my dear husband.  However, God’s plans are always better than mine.  I rest in His sovereignty.

 

Hurricane Ian Aftermath

I have been through blizzards, ice storms and a microburst, but this was my first major hurricane.  We had pretty much a direct hit of Ian’s category 4 force.   We were told that a storm surge covered the entire Island at Shell Point.  We could not see this from the shelter.

One of my first concerns was my car.  It is in a parking deck below our building.  My assigned spot is only a few feet from the Caloosahatchee River and only about 5 feet above the typical surface of the water.  It is clear that the garage was inundated with water as there is debris around all of the cars…and not just branches.  The garage is full of stones which washed in from around the plantings which are on the river side of the garage.  Gratefully, the car started.  It must be watertight, as there was no standing water in cup holders in the doors.  The interior seemed damp, but the kind of damp from humidity.  I opened the windows and left it running for about 15 minutes.  When the service garage here reopens, I will have it checked out.

After my first night back in my apartment ( without water or power), I went out for a walk around the Island.  There is debris everywhere.  There are two boats up in the mangroves to the north of the Island.  The osprey platforms are gone.  The orchid house is crushed.  Most of the gardens are washed away and the bins which are normally at the end of each garden are who-knows-where…just gone.  A boat lashed to its floating dock is up in a parking lot against a building.  Many places along the sidewalk, there are entire schools of small fish that were washed up and left behind when the water retreated. 

The palm trees are missing their tops, and some are snapped right off halfway up the trunk.  Many of the banyan trees are totally uprooted.  Most of the buildings are missing shingles…there are shingles littering the ground everywhere.  The siding on the mansard roof of the church is mostly missing.  Amazingly, most of the building have windows still intact.  My windows are fine, although one in Bill’s den/second bedroom must have leaked as the windowsill is dirty and looks like it was wet.

Shell Point is directly east of Sanibel Island.  We are on the right/north side of the road just before the causeway begins.  The media reports that 200 people did not evacuate Sanibel as directed.  Now the causeway is destroyed, so they are isolated.  Helicopters have been overhead going to and from Sanibel ever since the storm stopped.  There have been deaths and serious injuries and people just anxious to get off.

 

The above was written while I was still at Shell Point, but unable to post it because there was no internet available.  My kids were not happy with the notion of me being in a place with no power or water, so they arranged for me to leave.  The airport in Fort Myers is not yet open, so my son-in-law flew into Fort Lauderdale, rented a car and drove to Fort Myers to get me.  We then flew back to Jacksonville out of Fort Lauderdale.  The destruction was obvious even driving in the dark.  Debris had been pushed off the highway just as snow is plowed in the north.  My son-in-law said in daylight, he saw boats in the highway median as far as two miles from the coast.  We did not see any electricity, not even working traffic lights, for about 15 miles from Shell Point.  There were a few gas stations with lights, apparently from generators.

I am not sure how many units there are in our community of 2500 residents, but 200 of the units have been deemed unlivable.  I’m sure the administration is scrambling trying to figure out where these people are going to live.  Meantime, they are also sustaining those who have been able to return to their apartments by providing three meals a day.  Without power, no one has the ability to cook, and only non-refrigerated items can be kept safe for eating.  Sanitation is a big problem as there is limited water.  People on the first floor of my building do have some water, but there is not enough pressure for those on higher floors to get water.  It is, of course, not safe to drink…there is a boil-water advisory, but without power, no way to boil it.  We have all been drinking bottled water.

 

So…I am now safe with my daughter’s family in Fernandina Beach, but my heart is with my friends still in this terribly challenging situation.

Hurricane Ian and the Shelter

Hurricane Ian blew through as a Category 4.  The center of the eye was just north of us here at Shell Point, but the eye was large and we did experience the eye wall.  However, we were tucked away in a shelter which is normally a parking garage, but which amounts to a concrete bunker.  The metal windows are sealed and bolted into place and are pretty much watertight.  We did experience some water in the shelter because the water was coming in what is normally a drain hole.  Maintenance  stuffed it with towels and mopped up regularly.

There were hundreds of people in the shelter.  We were each given a recliner/zero gravity chair which we could sit and sleep in.   We were provided with lots of water and food….three meals a day and never ending snacks were available.  There was medical care available which was a good thing!  During our time there, a lady fell and broke her hip.  There was delay in getting her to a hospital because roads were not passable at that point.  The bathroom facilities were port-a-potties.  They were adequate, but got pretty stinky after 48 hours.  There were charging stations for our phones, but everyone wanted to use them.  The one in our area wasn’t working and folks in other areas didn’t appreciate us intruding.  Most people stayed pleasant and tried to be helpful.

I did lots of knitting, but also got up and walked the circuit of the place.  We were seated in specific areas with others from our building, but I ran into various friends from other buildings during my walks.  I was able to get acquainted with some folks from our building that I hadn’t run into much previously.  There were 3 couples we have been friendly with seated in the same row with me.  I spent lots of time talking to one friend in particular, who sat right next to me.  There was a 99 year-old lady in our row and everyone watched out for her.  She was very independent and didn’t like to accept help.  I learned last evening that she told someone that she had appreciated the help she received from a lady named Ruth.  I didn’t push myself on her, but twice when I saw her struggling with her chair, I had helped her to adjust it. 

The staff were unfailingly helpful and upbeat.  The first night when we were bussed to the shelter, we did not arrive until about 10:30.  The rain was already coming down in torrents.  As we stepped off the bus someone with an umbrella grabbed our evacuation bag and protected us with the umbrella until we were under cover.  We were escorted to our area, and there was no chaos or confusion.

Once the storm had passed out of the area, they unbolted and opened some of the metal windows.  Initially, everyone crowded around to view the damage.  It was hard to fathom that we had been so safe and secure while all of that devastation had occurred.

We were not allowed to leave until they had cleared enough debris to make the roads in the community passable.  They also checked safety issues in our buildings.  I left when we were told we could come back to our building if we were capable of walking there and climbing the stairs to our apartment.  I started off realizing it would not be easy.  Along came a lady in a car.  “ Would you like a ride?” she called to me.  She was headed for the building right next to mine.  I was grateful.  I had to rest on each landing because of the heavy evacuation bag, blanket and pillow I was carrying, but I made it up to my apartment on the fourth floor.

As I write this, I have been back in my apartment about 36 hours.  There is no water or power.  That means no AC, but I have opened windows and thankfully the temperature is going down into the 60s overnight.  I have 2 toilets and figure I can get one flush out of each so I’m flushing once a day.  I do have jugs of water for washing and a whole case of bottled water for drinking.  I expect to lose everything in the refrigerator, but there isn’t a lot there since I just arrived back here 2 weeks before the storm hit, and I confess to not much appetite since Bill’s death.

I will write another post to describe the damage I’ve seen.

Ebenezer

Why do we put a headstone on a grave?

We want our loved one memorialized.

Here lies my beloved.

The permanency of stone means we can’t forget.

No one who sees it can forget.

 

And to raise an Ebenezer? What is the meaning?

Unlike the headstone, it is not a stone of loss,

But, a “stone of help.”

A permanent reminder of God’s grace,

Of His help in time of distress.

 

 I have placed a literal stone for my beloved.

May it be a symbol of a “stone of help.”

An Ebenezer.

A permanent reminder of God’s grace,

As I cry out for help in my time of need.

Tears of Gratitude

Since Bill’s passing almost 3 months ago, I have shed many tears in grief and a few in loneliness, but also some in gratitude.  I recognize ways in which God has provided for my needs for comfort and support.  I have been grateful for the reminders of Bill’s great kindness as I have read notes on sympathy cards describing ways in which he touched the lives of other people.  This morning, I shed some tears of gratitude as I thought about the ways in which God is using Bill’s death as friends and family try to honor both Bill and God Himself through their actions in Bill’s memory.

I am sure I don’t know about everything that has been done, but here are some things I do know.  Delta Lake Bible Conference Center has received at least one donation in Bill’s memory.  Three individuals have made donations to the Gideons for Bibles to be placed in Bill’s memory.  There have been about 10 donations to the Northern New York Community Foundation to honor Bill.  Chapin Living Waters has so far received about 40 donations totaling over $11,000 for Bucket Kits.  These kits allow subsistence farmers in developing nations to grow crops even during dry seasons, so that they can feed their families, and sometimes have enough to sell.  There are places where these kits make the difference between eating and not eating.  The funds donated are going to be used in cooperation with Healing Hands for a project in Africa…most likely in Zimbabwe, although details are still being worked out.

Additionally, 45 kits were recently hand delivered to Tanzania as the Lord used several people to accomplish this.  Chapin Living Waters received an email from a man in Tanzania inquiring about the kits.  A man who had become aware of the need while on a safari in Tanzania was willing to pay for the kits.  A runner friend of Bill’s who had driven several hours to attend Bill’s Memorial Service mentioned to the CLW office manager that he was going to Tanzania.  She asked if he would be willing to take kits.  Since CLW is in northern New York and the man is from the Finger Lakes region, a volunteer drove to Syracuse, NY, to meet him with the 45 kits.  He packed these into 3 suitcases and took them to Tanzania, where he delivered them to the man who had made the inquiry.  As I thought about this and the ways in which God orchestrates our lives, I shed some tears of gratitude.

I did not want to lose Bill, but I have a strong sense of God’s hand in our parting, I know he arranged our meeting 56 years ago.  I have to believe he also arranged our parting, and that it is being used for God’s glory and to accomplish His purposes.

Psalm 56:8…You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book.

A Prayer and a Promise

I was still a child when I began to pray for Bill…before I knew him.  Soon after inviting Jesus into my heart and life, I thought about the fact that if I were ever to marry, there was somewhere in the world a young boy who would one day be terribly important to me, and that he was facing the struggles of growing up as I was.  I prayed that God would protect him and help him to grow into the man God wanted him to be.  I prayed that we would meet in the right time and way.

As I grew up pretty much dateless, but being a careful observer of my friends’ relationships, I came up with three criteria, which I believed were God’s directives for me.  The man I married had to be a committed Christian, he had to be at least as intelligent as I was, and he had to have a strong enough personality to handle my strong personality.  These characteristics were in no way a demand on my part.  I believed them to be God’s leading.

At the age of 21 when I could count my actual dates on one hand, I came to grips with the idea that I might never marry.  It was possible the person for whom I had been praying might not exist.  There certainly were men in the world with those characteristics, but maybe no one was in God’s plan for me.  I promised God that I would not “settle” for something less than his plan for me, and that if that plan was for me to be single, I would be the happiest single lady on the planet.  I would not be sad or bitter.  I would be joyful in the life He planned out for me.

I met Bill about 3 months later.  I don’t know at what point I stopped praying for the nameless boy, and began instead to pray specifically for Bill, but that did happen.  When I realized it, I knew it was significant.  Here too was someone who met the criteria and brought a whole lot of bonuses to the relationship…wonderful things for which I had not thought to ask.

Now he is gone, and I don’t have to pray for him, because he is with Jesus.  But, what of my promise to be happy “single?”  It occurred to me this morning, that it is time to make good on that promise. I am sure I will continue to have times of great sadness, but I refuse to be bitter or angry at God.  I will have a positive attitude about my life.  I will find meaningful activities.  I will be joyful in my relationship with God.

Fifty-six years later, I have a chance to keep my promise, and I will.

Rejoicing Chuckles

Bill and I met in the summer of 1966.  It was on Sunday, July 31^st to be specific.  The 31^st falls on a Sunday again this year, so memories will flood.  I was only around for about 3 weeks after we met, as I was scheduled to sing at a wedding in Maine and another in Illinois before returning to college in early September.  During that brief time, Bill and I developed a remarkable friendship.  We probed one another’s minds and hearts with intense conversations.  It is noteworthy that this involved no physical contact….no kissing or even handholding.  There was no commitment to a “relationship.”    That being the case, there were no promises of letter writing going forward.

I decided I would not be the first to write.  If there was to be a relationship, he needed to make the first move.  I waited only 2 weeks before receiving a letter from him, in which he admitted that he had first decided not to write, but then changed his mind. It was a sweet and thoughtful letter, and he signed it “Love.”  I knew he was not saying he was “in love,” but that he loved me deeply as a friend.

I responded, and when I heard back after my first letter, he said that he had laughed the whole time as he read it.  He went on to explain that his laughter was not because it was funny, but rather that it caused such delight because of my choice of topics and means of expressing my thoughts, that he experienced “rejoicing chuckles.”

I am thinking about the beginning of our relationship now, because I have been rereading our letters to each other.  In another letter, he signed his name “R. Chuckles.”  I am remembering the delight we both experienced at finding someone with whom we could talk about anything…someone who genuinely cared about our ideas and feelings and who filtered what we said with understanding rather than criticism.

I have “rejoicing chuckles” as I think back on knowing each other for 56 years and being married for 54 of them.  I am so sad that he is gone, but so grateful for the delight of the mutual support we experienced.  No matter what we were facing, we knew we could rely on each other.

 I can laugh through my tears, and those are rejoicing chuckles.

In God's Time

If you were anywhere on earth,

I would search until I found you.

I have already looked for you,

In the places you have inhabited.

 

But then my thoughts go to

How I found you to begin with.

I did not search for you.

I just stayed on the path God planned.

 

And we found each other surprisingly,

Seemingly as a coincidence.

But we came to believe, it was

The guidance of a divine hand.

 

What am I to believe now?

If our meeting was God-ordained,

What am I to think of our parting?

Was it a mistake…horrible and unintended?

 

“Shall we accept good from God,

And not trouble?” said Job.

Did God plan the joyous meeting

And not the painful parting?

 

In God’s time…

Meeting

Parting

Reuniting.

Achan's Sin

Achan’s Sin…and Mine

             (Joshua 7)

Have I squandered and hidden away,

That which is yours by right?

A bar of gold, a pile of silver,

A garment of radiant light?

 

Have I buried under my tent,

A holy, sacred thing?

An item intended for worship

A trophy for my king?

 

Has my sin impacted others,

Leading to their defeat?

Will confession undo the wrong,

As I come to the mercy seat?

 

From Achan’s sin came destruction,

His family’s death by stoning.

My sin by the grace of God,

Is cleansed by the blood’s atoning.

Looking for You.

After May eighth, you were not in the apartment in which we lived the past year.  Your clothes were still in the closet.  Your to-do list was on your desk.  Under your laptop, I found the Mother’s Day card you had planned to give me.

I spent five days by your side in a cardiac unit and three days in a hospice.  I held your hand and talked to you.  You did not respond.  I don’t know if you were still there or not.

I went to our home at the retirement community, but you were not there.  It was empty and still.  There is a large stack of never used jigsaw puzzles next to your desk.

I flew north and drove to the city in which we spent most of our married life.

I drove past our former homes, but I didn’t see you.  I knew you had not been there recently as the bushes were not properly trimmed.

I arrived at the cottage, but you weren’t there either.  It was cold one morning, and I had to start the fire in the pot-bellied stove.  You used to get up and start the fire, and then crawl back in bed with me as we snuggled to stay warm.

Your cousin’s wife died, and I went to the memorial service without you.  You were not there to visit with your cousins and reminisce about your childhoods together.

I went to the cemetery where we buried your ashes.  I told myself I was going to think about what type of headstone would be best.  Of course, I thought only of you, even though I know you are not there.

I stood there and wept.  I watered a plant that remains among the dying floral arrangements.

I wept again.

I know you are in heaven and that you are free of pain and problems.

I also know you are not here…not anywhere so that I can see you or talk with you.  You are not out on a run or away on a business trip.  Since meeting you 56 years ago, I have never gone this long without some form of communication with you.

I weep again…

and again.

What is a widow?

What is a widow?

*much more than a box to be checked on a survey

*someone I didn’t expect to be

*a member of a club practically no one wants to join

*a person who feels like she has lost a body part

*someone whose sleep patterns are altered

*a person who is struggling to find her purpose

*someone who has a gaping wound, an aching space that can’t be filled

*a person who has no appetite and no desire to cook

*someone wondering, “Who am I now?”

*a person who rarely cried before, but now cries daily

Having talked with several other widows in the past 6 weeks since I became one, I can state that all the above are true of most of us.

Most of us hesitate the first time we have to check “widow” instead of “married.”

Most of us have an enormous sense of loss, as though part of our very selves is missing.

If our spouse died during the night, we may awaken every night at that time…as though an alarm was going off.

We wonder why our husband is gone, but we are still here.

When eating alone, we choke down food, because that is what we are supposed to do.

We have a bond with other widows that we never realized would exist.  We understand each other even without words.  The bond is bittersweet.  It is comforting, but not something for which we previously wished.

We are living in a strange new world.

We are living.

How Long?

Throughout my life, I have rarely cried.  I figured out years ago that it didn’t solve anything and often left me with a headache.

But…

Now I cry at some point every day.  I cry when I see his clothes in the closet, when I eat alone, when I look at the Mother’s Day card I found after he was gone, when I see the mental picture of him taking those last few shallow breaths, when I want to tell him something and he isn’t sitting next to me, when I run my hand over his side of the bed and it is empty.

How long does it take before one can get through a whole day without crying?

Hope of a Brighter Day

Dawn of a gray and dismal morning.

The sun is shining somewhere.

The sky weeps tears here.

But the storm is nearly past.

The clouds will soon scatter.

Revealing a brighter day.

 

I am in a gray and dismal time.

The sun is shining somewhere.

And although I shed tears now,

This too shall pass.

Time will scatter the clouds

Revealing a brighter day.

Water from the Rock

Moses struck the rock,

And water gushed out.

In my heart there is a rock,

Heavy and dense with grief.

Can water gush out?

 

The pain in my stricken heart

Leaks only tears.

Can the water of life,

Refreshing and invigorating,

Once more flow?

 

How hard must the rock be hit,

Before it cracks open?

How severe the pain,

Before it liquifies,

And water runs free?

 

Is water from the rock,

Too much to expect?

I pray this is only a dry spell.

I pray for a spring.

I pray for water.