I'm Still Here

I have gained 30 pounds since Jon died.  How’s that for an opening line?  Yep,  I spent 2016 losing it and 2017 gaining it back.  Is it because I'm lazy or don't care anymore or because I drown my sorrows in Talenti gelato and bowls of queso?  Well.....maybe sometimes, but the truth is, I'm not ready to be healthy yet.  It’s quite embarrassing to discuss, but it is real so I’m thinking maybe I’m not the only person that struggles this way....and you know me, I have to be real.  I have joked a thousand times, “Oh, sure. I couldn’t be one of those people that loses 50 pounds when they’re grieving.  I have to be the one that packs it on instead!  Thanks, God!”  Here’s the deal….it’s not really so much about food or will power or exercise.  It's that it seems appropriate.  Honestly, I’m quite tired of it.  It’s not fun to feel like a total slug or not fit into any of my clothes.  It kinda sucks, but there’s a reason I haven’t made the necessary changes.  Quite frankly, it feels wrong.

I started back on a diet the first of the year.  I lost 8 pounds the first week.  I was feeling good…..then feeling good felt wrong.  I was doing yoga.  The raised endorphins and serotonin levels that come with exercise feel great, right?  Only that “feeling great” felt like betrayal to my heart.  So, at the end of class I would lie on the floor in savasana with tears streaming down my face, experiencing an internal battle between the present and the past, a battle between my body and my mind. It felt so wrong to feel good when Jon could not.  It felt wrong to try to “move on” when Jon could not.  I’m not saying this is right or healthy, I’m just sharing what IS.  

In the first year of grief, (and God, I hope not forever after) it is almost impossible to focus on any moments other than those surrounding death, the destruction of the body, mind and a life that was lived so fully.  I have relived April 11th and the preceding weeks about a million times.  I have imagined my love that day, frantically writing his final thoughts, wanting to cover everything, but unable to think clearly.  I have imagined him changing into the new clothes he purchased from Wal-Mart just two days prior, clothes he had purchased for this moment.  He didn’t want us to find him in his clothes, a favorite shirt or anything that could be linked to a memory.  I have imagined him picking up a shotgun and taking the long walk across the yard to a place I am certain he had already chosen.  Was he terrified or at peace?  Did that gun feel heavy in his hands?  Was he crying?  Did he have second thoughts?  Did he want to put it down, to turn around and call someone?  As he made that terrible long walk, I picture his handsome face, his furrowed brow and I want so desperately to be able to say something to him, to run after him, to tear the gun from his hand and hug him tighter than ever.  We were woven together, our hearts, our spirits, our bodies were one, so he didn’t just take himself out that day.  It wasn't just him taking that walk across the yard.  It’s not just that PART of me died that day, but as though MY very heart was blown from my chest and scattered in pieces.  

Only, I didn’t die.  

I’m still here.  

How is it ok for me to be healthy following that?  How can I think about looking good or feeling good when my Jon was so very, very ill?  Am I punishing myself?  Maybe sometimes.  But really it just feels appropriate.  Will it ever change?  Yes.  I believe change is coming.  What was permanent for him cannot be permanent for me.  But change and healing doesn’t happen all at once, it happens in bits and pieces over time.  

Truth.  God has a plan for me.  How do I know that?  I’m still here.  God has the power to heal - even the most broken, shattered hearts - the ones that are in a million pieces, which must be excavated from the dirt and weeds.  He can unearth every piece, restore, reassemble and breathe life back into that which is decimated and unresponsive.  I have maintained that hope and that faith this year.  In spite of how I feel, I know the power of my great God.  I know His power is at work within me.  Even when I feel powerless, useless, defenseless or ineffective, I see progress.  He does not leave me to heal alone.  He has secured every piece of my heart and is in the process of carefully knitting it back together.  The scars it bears will only make it stronger.  Rising from the ashes is not a one time event, it is an ongoing process.  Some days my gaze is cast upon the work table where I see the spilled blood and the broken pieces awaiting the master’s touch.  On other days I see the part that has been reassembled, the piece that has been healed.  Like I said, it’s a process, sometimes a very long, very grueling process.   

So, yeah, I’ve gained 30 pounds this year, and no, it’s not healthy.  I'm dealing with that.  But guess what.....I’m still here. God is good.  And healing is present.