Simple Sacred Moments
As usual, I begin writing with no idea where I'm headed. This is a mirror to my life right now - "no idea where I'm headed." Tomorrow will be 4 months and I realized that the date, the 11th, is so etched in my subconscious that my whole body begins to ache with horrible anticipation each month as it draws near. Four months ago today I kissed him goodnight, hugged him close and said "I love you," not knowing it would be the last time I would get to do those simple sacred things. With each 11th that passes, I fear he is getting farther and farther away from me. And I know as the months begin to add up, there is more of an expectation that I should be getting along, doing better. Ugh.
People ask how I am doing and I always feel like such a liar when I say, "as good as can be expected" or "just taking it one day at a time." The truth is I am not taking one day at a time and I'm certainly not doing as good as you would expect. I am failing miserably at this. I feel the weight of sadness and fear and anxiety about my whole past and future all at once. I am ashamed of the lack of faith I display in my daily life. Sure, I pray and I read and try to be positive and repost scriptures on Facebook which are intended to bring comfort and encouragement, but most days I don't actually do anything I intend to do. Most days my life is the exact opposite of what I would have expected from myself at this point. Now, please don't feel tempted to give me any advice, to tell me that I would feel better if I ate healthier, exercised, got out of the house, etc. I know all of that. I have just lost the ability to care right now. Surely it will return. Each day I wake up thinking, today is the day. I'm going to do better. I'm going to sit outside and drink my coffee while I read the Bible, then go for a walk, then fix something around the house, spend some time working my business and maybe cook a nice healthy dinner for us. Unfortunately, most days that feels too much like life and like "moving on" and I still can't bear the thought that I'm really here, for the rest of my life, without him.
One thing that makes grief particularly hard for me is the sheer volume of emotion. Believe it or not, I'm not a big crier. I feel more comfortable gritting my teeth, clenching my jaw and choking back the tears. Therefore, I tend to walk around with a constant lump in my throat and wall of tears behind my eyes. The problem with that is they can only be suppressed for so long before the dam gives way. My one safe place to let go was in Jon's arms. He could see my raised shoulders and short breaths and would gently pull me in toward his chest, place his big hand in the middle of my back and say, "You've got to let it go. You can't hold that stuff in there, baby." Then my shoulders would collapse, the tears would spill out onto his shirt and he would just hold me. While I sobbed, he would press his hand into my back like he was helping me get all of the sadness out. And when the sobs began to cease, and my breath returned to normal, he would kiss away the last of my tears and I knew that everything was going to be ok. Now, I must truly depend on God to be my comfort and never in my life have I felt so challenged. Please don't misunderstand me. I am not saying that God's comfort is not enough. What I'm saying is, there is a drastic shift from feeling physically held and physically comforted to being physically alone but receiving spiritual comfort and healing. I believe in my heart that the latter is actually better, but my body has not quite made the adjustment.
Other physical adjustments have been difficult as well. For example, driving in the car without him next to me. Because we were both blessed to be self-employed, we had freedom of spending lots of time together - and lots of time in the car. We loved the days we could work together, even if it just meant running errands and grabbing lunch at Whataburger. From the time we started dating, we always held hands in the car or he would put his hand up on my shoulder. If he was driving, I would lean into him and he'd put his arm around me, but mostly we held hands. Sometimes I still make the motion of reaching out to grab his hand, just to say "I sure miss having you here. I wish you were going with me today."
The past couple of weeks I've had lots of extra challenges - like trying to fix the hot water heater (which I still have not done successfully), changing out light fixtures, moving heavy things, big gardening chores, etc. And none of these chores, I mean none of them, have been easy or gone as planned. I think my fairy godmother is on vacation right now. Let's just say I nearly threw a wrench and a light fixture into the empty lot today, but I decided I didn't really want to hunt it down in the weeds afterward, so I kept my cool instead. Basically what I'm saying is I'm tired of being the sole manager of the household and of life in general, of paying all the bills, making all the phone calls, doing all the gross chores, making all the decisions. There are no solutions to this. It's just an adjustment. It is reality and I must accept it. I am trying, really trying, to accept it with grace, but again, I'm not quite there.
In spite of all these things, there are days when the heaviness lifts, when I'm able to complete tasks, laugh and genuinely experience joy. I can worship now without the constant flow of tears and I can sometimes recount a memory without choking up completely. This is evidence of God's grace, the healing we receive, which takes far too long for our impatient hearts, but is worth the waiting and hoping. I know how faithful God is and that He can be trusted with the most fragile heart, which is mine right now.
August 13th would be our 10th wedding anniversary. There were 13 of us present for the ceremony, on the beach in Mexico. It was beautiful and perfect. We wrote our own vows and Jon's words to me were the most beautiful I ever heard. He was always such a romantic and such a wordsmith. I pulled out the card he wrote me last year for our 9th anniversary and he said this:
"Jenni, I pledge again, for another moment - hour - day, and eternity, the entirety of myself to you. You, being the smile within alive; and in life, until death parts us for only a day, my unending love and adoration. You were born to me be mine. Yours through eternity, Jon
I definitely had his unending love and adoration. He let me know it every single day. No matter how grief stricken and lonely I am now, I can say that for 12 beautiful years I was blessed with a love like no other. I actually feel closer to God because of the love we shared. Jon made me feel more valuable as a human being, more beautiful as a woman and more treasured as a child of God. And because of the amazing husband he was, I know I can trust God to continue loving me, caring for me, providing for me and guiding me.
Here's to almost 10 beautiful years of marriage. Hugs in the hallway, kisses on the neck, calling or texting each other at exactly the same time, laughing at inside jokes, making me blush, holding hands in the car, doing dishes so I didn't have to, leaving Dove chocolates on my pillow, arguing about stupid things but always making up, working together in the yard all day, late night talks, dreaming about the future, secrets that only we shared, morning coffee on the back porch - here's to the blessing of simple sacred moments.
People ask how I am doing and I always feel like such a liar when I say, "as good as can be expected" or "just taking it one day at a time." The truth is I am not taking one day at a time and I'm certainly not doing as good as you would expect. I am failing miserably at this. I feel the weight of sadness and fear and anxiety about my whole past and future all at once. I am ashamed of the lack of faith I display in my daily life. Sure, I pray and I read and try to be positive and repost scriptures on Facebook which are intended to bring comfort and encouragement, but most days I don't actually do anything I intend to do. Most days my life is the exact opposite of what I would have expected from myself at this point. Now, please don't feel tempted to give me any advice, to tell me that I would feel better if I ate healthier, exercised, got out of the house, etc. I know all of that. I have just lost the ability to care right now. Surely it will return. Each day I wake up thinking, today is the day. I'm going to do better. I'm going to sit outside and drink my coffee while I read the Bible, then go for a walk, then fix something around the house, spend some time working my business and maybe cook a nice healthy dinner for us. Unfortunately, most days that feels too much like life and like "moving on" and I still can't bear the thought that I'm really here, for the rest of my life, without him.
One thing that makes grief particularly hard for me is the sheer volume of emotion. Believe it or not, I'm not a big crier. I feel more comfortable gritting my teeth, clenching my jaw and choking back the tears. Therefore, I tend to walk around with a constant lump in my throat and wall of tears behind my eyes. The problem with that is they can only be suppressed for so long before the dam gives way. My one safe place to let go was in Jon's arms. He could see my raised shoulders and short breaths and would gently pull me in toward his chest, place his big hand in the middle of my back and say, "You've got to let it go. You can't hold that stuff in there, baby." Then my shoulders would collapse, the tears would spill out onto his shirt and he would just hold me. While I sobbed, he would press his hand into my back like he was helping me get all of the sadness out. And when the sobs began to cease, and my breath returned to normal, he would kiss away the last of my tears and I knew that everything was going to be ok. Now, I must truly depend on God to be my comfort and never in my life have I felt so challenged. Please don't misunderstand me. I am not saying that God's comfort is not enough. What I'm saying is, there is a drastic shift from feeling physically held and physically comforted to being physically alone but receiving spiritual comfort and healing. I believe in my heart that the latter is actually better, but my body has not quite made the adjustment.
Other physical adjustments have been difficult as well. For example, driving in the car without him next to me. Because we were both blessed to be self-employed, we had freedom of spending lots of time together - and lots of time in the car. We loved the days we could work together, even if it just meant running errands and grabbing lunch at Whataburger. From the time we started dating, we always held hands in the car or he would put his hand up on my shoulder. If he was driving, I would lean into him and he'd put his arm around me, but mostly we held hands. Sometimes I still make the motion of reaching out to grab his hand, just to say "I sure miss having you here. I wish you were going with me today."
The past couple of weeks I've had lots of extra challenges - like trying to fix the hot water heater (which I still have not done successfully), changing out light fixtures, moving heavy things, big gardening chores, etc. And none of these chores, I mean none of them, have been easy or gone as planned. I think my fairy godmother is on vacation right now. Let's just say I nearly threw a wrench and a light fixture into the empty lot today, but I decided I didn't really want to hunt it down in the weeds afterward, so I kept my cool instead. Basically what I'm saying is I'm tired of being the sole manager of the household and of life in general, of paying all the bills, making all the phone calls, doing all the gross chores, making all the decisions. There are no solutions to this. It's just an adjustment. It is reality and I must accept it. I am trying, really trying, to accept it with grace, but again, I'm not quite there.
In spite of all these things, there are days when the heaviness lifts, when I'm able to complete tasks, laugh and genuinely experience joy. I can worship now without the constant flow of tears and I can sometimes recount a memory without choking up completely. This is evidence of God's grace, the healing we receive, which takes far too long for our impatient hearts, but is worth the waiting and hoping. I know how faithful God is and that He can be trusted with the most fragile heart, which is mine right now.
August 13th would be our 10th wedding anniversary. There were 13 of us present for the ceremony, on the beach in Mexico. It was beautiful and perfect. We wrote our own vows and Jon's words to me were the most beautiful I ever heard. He was always such a romantic and such a wordsmith. I pulled out the card he wrote me last year for our 9th anniversary and he said this:"Jenni, I pledge again, for another moment - hour - day, and eternity, the entirety of myself to you. You, being the smile within alive; and in life, until death parts us for only a day, my unending love and adoration. You were born to me be mine. Yours through eternity, Jon
I definitely had his unending love and adoration. He let me know it every single day. No matter how grief stricken and lonely I am now, I can say that for 12 beautiful years I was blessed with a love like no other. I actually feel closer to God because of the love we shared. Jon made me feel more valuable as a human being, more beautiful as a woman and more treasured as a child of God. And because of the amazing husband he was, I know I can trust God to continue loving me, caring for me, providing for me and guiding me.
Here's to almost 10 beautiful years of marriage. Hugs in the hallway, kisses on the neck, calling or texting each other at exactly the same time, laughing at inside jokes, making me blush, holding hands in the car, doing dishes so I didn't have to, leaving Dove chocolates on my pillow, arguing about stupid things but always making up, working together in the yard all day, late night talks, dreaming about the future, secrets that only we shared, morning coffee on the back porch - here's to the blessing of simple sacred moments.
❤❤❤❤
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