The end of the beginning

It has now been six months since my husband died. I could be melodramatic and say "the day my life changed forever" (which would be true) or "that horrible day". But truthfully, until after 9pm that night, my day went on pretty much as it normally would have.

I went to work. I took my daughter to a doctor's appointment. I worried about my husband, but I didn't have that premonition feeling that something terrible had happened to him. I think I expected that I would because we really were soulmates, but I didn't.

And then it becomes a blur: the panic, the phone calls, talking to the police (or hysterical and trying to hear what the police officer was saying), not even believing it to be possible, and knowing that the bottom had just fallen out of my world.

Six months later, and I can't even begin to find the bottom of this grief. Does it get better? No, not yet... But at the same time I do make progress.

What does progress even look like? I'm accepting that this has happened. That took a long time. I'm no longer waking up and wondering when this nightmare will end (I know that it is my reality). I know that I have to keep going, and I do, but I never really know how I got here from there.

At the same time, everyone else has moved on with their lives. They assume that six months is a long time, enough time to start to move forward. In so many ways though, the pain is greater than it was then. I did things then, in my state of numbness, that I couldn't imagine doing now - watching a video of my husband, hearing his voice and looking at photos. Just far too painful now.

It is hard to imagine ever feeling happy again. A friend said that she believes I will be, because she knows who God is. I know what she means, but I believe, too, that God doesn't promise we will be happy. He gives JOY. And JOY is different. Joy is our strength (although for now I must allow the grief out and give myself permission to be weak). Joy is a gift of the Spirit. I will taste and see that the Lord is good. I will know joy. I just can't be guaranteed happiness.

And, if I'm truthful, life with my husband was not always happy. He brought great contentment and security into my life. He was unfailingly loyal, loving me unconditionally and with acceptance. He struggled with depression for most of the time I knew him, occasionally finding ways of lifting it off. He never really found a way to release his emotions and let off the pressure they can build inside. He did not have those tools.

Now that it's been six months, I am still stuck in the trauma of that two week period: the lead up to my husband going to see the doctor, then being admitted to hospital, being released and then his death, followed by the unreal aftermath.

God says: Focus on your husband's failings or the things you cannot change builds a heavy feeling of helplessness. You are not helpless, but you do need help to move forward. What do you need now? Where are you trying to go?

My words for now are: renew, refresh, re-establish, re-compense, redeem

I must be surrounded by faith-giving people and situations. Faith is a gift of the Spirit which is available to me now. It is also a fruit of the Spirit, so I must allow the Spirit to bear fruit in my life.

Love is still here, in different ways. My husband's love is gone and all that meant to me. But it is not gone forever, and it is still part of me.

I struggle at times with trying to let go or surrender the feelings I have for my husband. But God reminds me every time that I don't have to. That love we had, which was real and deep, is also eternal. My husband will love me forever, and I will love him forever. He is waiting for me in heaven. I may need to say this over and over again until it makes sense to me. Perhaps it never will, because it is a mystery. But doesn't Paul say that it IS a mystery, like Christ's love for the Church is a mystery.

Lean into the grief and allow the emotion to get out. Take in faith-building and loving surroundings. Restrict what is not constructive. Embrace the process you are in, however painful and arduous. Be comforted by my presence like a cool breeze on a hot day, like a warm bath after a day in the cold. Know that I am never farther than your breath. I am always in your presence, always at your right hand.

Isaiah 40:11 He tends his flock like a shepherd: he gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young.