A New Song
Jon has been gone from this earth for 9 months and 19 days, and yesterday, for the first time in 9 months and 19 days, I did not cry.
It didn’t strike me until this evening. After lying on the couch all day resting and battling a virus, I needed to run to the store. As I was walking into the store through the bakery section, I saw a carrot cake, Jon’s favorite. I stopped for a second and thought about all the times we had carrot cake together. I pictured one of the restaurants, the shirt he was wearing, the occasion (his birthday) and began to get a little choked up when suddenly I realized that I hadn’t cried at all for almost 2 days. It’s weird because I don’t walk around in a gray cloud or anything, but every single day there has been, at a bare minimum, a brief thought or a memory that brings the tears. I had shed tears for my love, for my loss, every single day for 9 months and 17 days and then suddenly it happened, I had a day with no tears.
It didn’t strike me until this evening. After lying on the couch all day resting and battling a virus, I needed to run to the store. As I was walking into the store through the bakery section, I saw a carrot cake, Jon’s favorite. I stopped for a second and thought about all the times we had carrot cake together. I pictured one of the restaurants, the shirt he was wearing, the occasion (his birthday) and began to get a little choked up when suddenly I realized that I hadn’t cried at all for almost 2 days. It’s weird because I don’t walk around in a gray cloud or anything, but every single day there has been, at a bare minimum, a brief thought or a memory that brings the tears. I had shed tears for my love, for my loss, every single day for 9 months and 17 days and then suddenly it happened, I had a day with no tears.
This brings mixed emotions and I want to share it with you because chances are, you’ve been there or been near someone in a similar situation and you can’t understand why a day with no tears can be both wonderful and terrible.
Grief is so exhausting. The physical toll, the constant ache and overwhelming emotion is so powerful that in the early days I didn’t think I could survive it. I felt as though I was either constantly crying or struggling to hold back the tears and both were exhausting. In those days what I wanted was a way out. If only I could fast forward through the agony and land 5 years down the road. I thought there was no way I could actually endure this day to day. So, you would think that a day with no tears would be a relief. You would think that the realization of this moment would feel like progress…..and it did, for about half a second.
Then came the other side. I realized that on this epic day I had woken up, done normal things, gone to lunch and shopping with my parents, painted, interacted with people, watched TV and had done most of it without an undercurrent of sadness, without that constant feeling of missing a piece of myself. And then I realized…it’s happening. I’m getting used to him not being here and THAT feels like losing him all over again, like he’s getting farther and farther away from me. The idea that an entire day could go by with no tears for him means I now have a life apart from him, a life I never wanted. The realization of that day with no tears also made me feel something else - guilty. I felt guilty for having a fairly good day with no sadness, as though it meant I was being disloyal to him. I know that may sound ridiculous to some. You would argue that the last thing Jon would want would be for anyone to sit around pining for him, unable to live a happy, fulfilled life, but these are the complicated feelings of mourning and sorrow.
My grief for Jon is my last act of love for him. Every moment that I think of him and tears well up in my eyes, is a moment I should have been hugging him or leaning on his shoulder, a moment he would have been laughing together. Those tears that spill out when I recount another memory are like kisses I would be smothering him with for every sweet act of love and kindness. That pain in my gut replaces the butterflies I felt every time I saw his name on caller ID. The lump in my throat replaces the contentment I felt just sitting beside him. Great sorrow grows out of great love. It is hard to let go of the tears because it is hard to let go of him.
Then came the other side. I realized that on this epic day I had woken up, done normal things, gone to lunch and shopping with my parents, painted, interacted with people, watched TV and had done most of it without an undercurrent of sadness, without that constant feeling of missing a piece of myself. And then I realized…it’s happening. I’m getting used to him not being here and THAT feels like losing him all over again, like he’s getting farther and farther away from me. The idea that an entire day could go by with no tears for him means I now have a life apart from him, a life I never wanted. The realization of that day with no tears also made me feel something else - guilty. I felt guilty for having a fairly good day with no sadness, as though it meant I was being disloyal to him. I know that may sound ridiculous to some. You would argue that the last thing Jon would want would be for anyone to sit around pining for him, unable to live a happy, fulfilled life, but these are the complicated feelings of mourning and sorrow.
My grief for Jon is my last act of love for him. Every moment that I think of him and tears well up in my eyes, is a moment I should have been hugging him or leaning on his shoulder, a moment he would have been laughing together. Those tears that spill out when I recount another memory are like kisses I would be smothering him with for every sweet act of love and kindness. That pain in my gut replaces the butterflies I felt every time I saw his name on caller ID. The lump in my throat replaces the contentment I felt just sitting beside him. Great sorrow grows out of great love. It is hard to let go of the tears because it is hard to let go of him.
There is a plane on which I always hold the identity of being Jon’s wife, and now Jon’s widow. There will never be a day that is not part of who I am, but God is gently leading me in a direction where I will have a new identity. Much of who I am today is because I loved and was loved by the most amazing human. We were blessed to share a closeness that most people live their entire lives without knowing. You have no idea how grateful I am for those years. That will be part of my soul forever, but God does not desire for us to dwell in the past.
On Sunday, January 7th, as I was struggling to sing with the church choir, eyes, closed, hands raised, worshipping with tears instead of notes, the Lord whispered in my ear, “This year I am giving you a new song to sing.” A new song. I don’t know what that means, but it was the unmistakable voice of the Holy Spirit. Interestingly enough I’ve had laryngitis since then. Maybe He is quieting my voice so I can hear his. If so, I am so grateful. What a loving faithful God. I am not forgotten. I am not alone. Tears or no tears, I am exactly where He designed me to be, and I am waiting for the new song to arise.
On Sunday, January 7th, as I was struggling to sing with the church choir, eyes, closed, hands raised, worshipping with tears instead of notes, the Lord whispered in my ear, “This year I am giving you a new song to sing.” A new song. I don’t know what that means, but it was the unmistakable voice of the Holy Spirit. Interestingly enough I’ve had laryngitis since then. Maybe He is quieting my voice so I can hear his. If so, I am so grateful. What a loving faithful God. I am not forgotten. I am not alone. Tears or no tears, I am exactly where He designed me to be, and I am waiting for the new song to arise.
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| One of the most beautiful sunsets, photo taken from our back porch in Nicaragua. |
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