Tag Archives: grief

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The Ring

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A simple gold band. We had set the date and now we were looking for wedding bands. I liked gold. Terry preferred silver. I liked the sparkle of diamonds. He didn’t care for that. We decided on yellow gold bands with white gold overlays.

A shiny wedding ring. On October 17, 1987, I place that shiny new ring on Terry’s finger. Of course, it was on the wrong hand, but that was soon remedied. He wore that ring every day. I used to tease him that there was no way he could ever get away with taking it off. The white imprint of the wedding band on his ring finger was too obvious. Thru the years, my band was replaced with a diamond band, but Terry’s remained the same.

A well worn ring. No longer perfectly round, the white gold overlays faded after 18 years of constant wear. But there is nothing quite as precious to me as that ring that was returned to me in the hospital corridor five years ago. I wear it proudly as reminder of the love that we shared.

Terry, I miss you so much!

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Alone

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I tease my siblings that I was quite happy as an only child for 2 years. I liked being alone. It was special.

In college, being alone was rare. Even when I lived in my Own apartment, people came and went at all hours.

As a single adult, life was busy and exciting. Alone time had to be scheduled. There was so much to do that once a month I might get an evening to myself.

My first apartment as a new bride was a small one bedroom. As much as I loved my new husband, I looked forward to Thursday nights when he had to work. I got the whole apartment all to myself and time alone.

Alone time with toddlers was truly a challenge. On more than one occasion, I locked myself in the bathroom as the kids stood outside knocking and begging to get inside. I just needed to be alone.

When my kids hit their teens, my husband and I talked about what we could do with all the time we would have alone. The possibilities were endless.

Being alone terrified me as a new widow. How would I make it? I held tightly to my kids and dreaded the day they too left me. I didn’t want to be alone.

As I look toward the future, being alone is changing still. I will never be completely alone. I trust that God will continue to fill my life with new goals and adventures. My kids and family weave in and out of my daily life. Friends, old and new, come and go and dot the landscape of my life. In the dark of night loneliness still creeps into the room. But, it’s not as scary as it was.

I may even learn to treasure alone time again. Someday.

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Fear

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I’m not a big roller coaster fan. Or a drop from the sky fan. Or anything that simulates the possibility of falling to my death. I like to keep my feet firmly planted and safe on the ground. Along those same lines, I don’t enjoy horror movies or spook houses. I do not enjoy that “thrill” that comes from fear. I’ll take silly over scary any day!

I have a fear of heights. I don’t sleep during thunder storms. When I hear about a wreck on the freeway or see a fire truck racing off, I call my kids just to be sure they’re ok. I don’t see any reason to put wheels on or under my feet. That’s just preparing to fall. Likewise, ice was meant for tea not sliding around on. I never learned to water ski. No matter how often my dad told me he would come back and get me, I would forget to let go of the rope when I fell. I spent a lot of time coughing up lake water one summer.

But, I think more than anything else, I fear not being “good enough” and thus an imposition. This fear permeates every minute of my day. It’s the reason I avoid making phone calls. What if I interrupt something? It keeps me from meeting people. What if they don’t like me? It keeps me from connecting to others any deeper than a surface level. That way, they’ll never know that I’m inferior in some way. On the flip side, it keeps me safe. I don’t have to worry about being rejected, because I rarely get close enough for it to hurt. This fear of not being good enough keeps the walls up around me. You may be able to see me, but you will have a hard time getting to me.

Grief has a way of demolishing all those walls. It removes the filters because you just don’t care what anyone thinks any more. But, I’ve realized that grief will also build newer walls much faster and they are often thicker. Solitude is safe. Loneliness is a small price to pay to avoid that searing pain, again. But, God did not intend for me to hide away in fear of what might happen.

There are lots of verses about fear. Here are a few:

1. For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline. 2 Timothy 1:7 NLT
2. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Matt 10:31 NIV
3. This is my command—be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. Joshua 1:9 NLT
4. He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings. His faithful promises are your armor and protection. Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night, nor the arrow that flies in the day. Do not dread the disease that stalks in darkness, nor the disaster that strikes at midday. Though a thousand fall at your side, though ten thousand are dying around you, these evils will not touch you. Psalm 91:4-8 NLT
5. They do not fear bad news; they confidently trust the Lord to care for them. Psalm 112:7 NLT
There are many, many more. And they help. Until, once again, I begin to believe that I need to measure up to the expectations of the people around me.

I know that Christ died for my sins and I will never be good enough to deserve that. I am blessed by that grace. I accept that. It’s the irrational fears of day to day life that take me to my knees. It’s a daily struggle to let go and trust.

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself!” Really? What about you?

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Love

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“I am never going to let anyone get close enough to me to cause this kind of pain ever again.”  That’s  what I vowed soon after the death of my husband.  And, I meant it.  I would avoid the excruciating ordeal of losing another deeply loved person at all costs.   I would guard my teenage children with a passion and they would be my life.  That would be enough.  I had fallen in love once and it was wonderful, but the fear of loss and that punch-in-the-gut feeling was too much to endure again.  And with that, I worked diligently at shutting that part of me down.

At first, it wasn’t too difficult.  I threw myself into activities that didn’t require much of “me.”  I was a football mom, a band mom, a wrestling mom.  I even volunteered to help with track meets and I wasn’t a track mom.  AT church, I led a Bible Fellowship class within our youth group and I directed the Children’s choir.  In those moments when activities didn’t fill my thoughts, Grief took over. There were many friends that were supporting me and trying to help me get on with life.  Unfortunately, I tended to focus on those that offered support and then weren’t really available when I needed their help.  This was further evidence, in my mind at least, that I shouldn’t let anyone into my life. They would only let me down or disappear from my life.  I had to be strong and self-sufficient.  I would take care of Zac and Gracie.  I didn’t need anyone else.  I continued to shut down.

I discovered that you can’t just shut down pieces of yourself. It’s an all or nothing venture.  While I was doing a very good job of keeping myself  “safe” from other people, I was also distancing myself from friends that I wanted and needed. 1 John 4:8 states “Whoever does not love, does not know God, because God is love.”  In my attempt to never be hurt by love ever again, I had distanced myself from all love:   including, the love of my God. 

 A friend reminded me that the pain I felt after Terry’s death was proportional to love that I’d had for him.  I wouldn’t give up a minute of the time I had with him  in order to hurt less.   So,  although I’m still determined to be strong and self-sufficient in order to take care of my family and myself, I’ve come to the realization that I have to leave myself open to the danger that is inherent in  loving others.  Love doesn’t have to include romance.  I’ve come to value the love that is part of a dear friendship.  But, love will always include the risk of being hurt.  That’s the risk we have to take.  It’s a risk well worth taking!

My God-sized dream for 2013: to grow in my love for God and people.

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Enough?

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A friend posted this question recently and it has haunted me ever since: “If everything else collapses around you, and all you have left is Jesus, will he be enough?” My initial reaction is to answer with a resounding “YES!” That’s what’s expected, right? But, is it truth? Would I be like Stephen in the New Testament and take a stand for Christ even if it meant death? Or, am I more like Peter: big talk, but when the time comes deny I even knew Him?

In 2005, the life I knew and loved died. My plans for the future, my dreams were all destroyed by the simple words: “He’s gone.” Those words took all of the air out of the room. And, truthfully, it took years to learn to fully breath again. Outwardly, not much had changed. I still had my job. I still had a home. I still had two kids, my parents, my extended family. I was surrounded by friends. But HE was gone. I was now a single mom and I did not have a CLUE about how to move forward. I was paralyzed in a world that refused to slow down.

 During those dark months, I struggled with what I believed. Music that had always been a balm to troubles was just too painful. I questioned everything I had said I believed over the years. I approached my stated doctrines much as I had approached proofs in geometry and dissected each one. I walked miles around the dining room table in the silence of the night and begged God to make the pain stop, to just bring my husband back. I questioned God over and over. I cried out in anger that I just didn’t understand why. I even provided God a list of people who He should have taken instead of my husband. I never lost my faith in God, but I questioned everything.

As I have moved through my grief, I can stand confidently and tell you what I believe. It’s no longer based on head knowledge that just spouts the right answers to the questions. It’s from my heart and soul, borne from many tearful and painful days.

So, if everything else collapses around me, and all I have left is Jesus, is He enough? I can say “yes”. It doesn’t mean that I will not be sad or upset. I reserve that right! It’s just that maybe, I will be a little more like Stephen.