I know what you're thinking: when is it not? Well, that's true. But there are days when it is too tempting to stay in bed or to sit in a corner and be anti-social. Sometimes the emotion is choking me or the weight of grief is heavy - even now, two years later.
I realized this weekend, despite a beautiful day with warm sunshine and blue skies, that emotion is part of the package. It can't be avoided as much as I wish I could schedule it in. I used to be able to do that: I would "portion" my grief like Dr Alan Wolfelt advises. But that was in the days when grief was every day, all day long. Now it's much more like the bursts they warned me about. It comes quickly or it creeps up on me sometimes. Most of the time it attacks me from behind and I am taken by surprise.
This weekend my daughter went out with her new friend (who I really like) and had a wonderful time. She went to a local fair, she stayed at her friend's house for dinner and she hung out with other kids. When I picked her up, she and her friend's mother were talking a mile a minute about the fun they'd had. Her eyes were shining and she was full of the excitement of the day. I was unable to respond, unable to be light, fun and enthusiastic. I was a wet blanket.
On a positive note, it struck me beforehand that I needed a plan for the day. I was already aware that she was going to have a great time and I had a ton of chores to do around the house. I didn't want to pick her up at the end of the day having worked all day to find that she'd had a good time and I was resentful. I went for lunch with a friend who is also widowed and that was really nice. I was content to come home and be at home in the quiet, as well as do the laundry and whatever.
But then, driving to pick her up, there was a sudden moment of deep sadness. It crept up on me and tapped me on the shoulder then jumped on my back. I realized how much I have become dependent on my daughter. She is a blessing to me, but she is also the momentum that gets me up in the morning and keeps me going each day. My friend pointed this out, as she does not have children. She has to make herself eat properly and do things. She has found having animals has really helped.
Then the loneliness kicked in as I thought of my friends who are still married and still have all the things I thought I had and never wanted to lose: companionship, someone to be in my corner, someone to listen and to care deeply about what matters to me, someone to hold me and cherish me no matter what I look like, someone to dare to be close to me and to enjoy that closeness. Perhaps I have put my daughter in the place of a spouse, in some ways (not others, of course!!!).
As I was getting ready for bed, I heard God say "Let her go but don't push her away." Such wisdom in such simple words, the love of a Father to me and to my daughter. So I pulled a book off the shelf and invited her into my room, and read aloud one of the stories from the Anne of Green Gables series, a story I knew she had not heard. And she cuddled right up to me, showing me that I had indeed put up a wall, but it didn't take long to remove.
Here is the dilemma: it's been two years since my husband's death, but I am still hurting, still working through the various layers of grief that seem so fresh in so many ways. Do I need to explain to those who might wonder why I seem standoffish? Am I being too self-protective to avoid disclosing and potentially hearing "advice" from well-meaning but clueless people?
God has spoken to me about having boundaries and about being careful how much I am exposed to toxic attitudes or environments. At the same time, I more of a capacity to withstand those environments for a short time.
Also interestingly, now that the freshness of grief from my husband's death has started to rub away, new things have surfaced. I am processing more from the life I had with my older daughter and the trauma she inflicted on me and our home. I am realizing that there is hurt from my previous church that I had not recognized before.
There is so much WORK in grief and recovery. It's exhausting and really not how I want to spend every minute of my day. I can fully understand why some people call it off and decide to "put it behind them" after they've had enough. Really, I can get that. I just don't want to have anything kick back at me later. I want it all done and worn out and cleared away so that I can expand into the new life God is creating for me. I want to emerge like a butterfly, not like a caterpillar with wings.
Isaiah 54 continues to be such an encouragement to me:
Afflicted city, lashed by storms and not comforted,
I will rebuild you with stones of turquoise,[a]
your foundations with lapis lazuli.
I will make your battlements of rubies,
your gates of sparkling jewels,
and all your walls of precious stones.
All your children will be taught by the Lord,
and great will be their peace.
In righteousness you will be established: (vv 11-14)
Why does God choose to rebuild us with precious stones? Most rebuilding work I see uses concrete or new, fresh wood - strong materials that can shore up the flagging foundations. But God chooses aspects of His character to rebuild us: rare, strong, refined and pure gems that are created by intense pressure from natural materials. The centre of God's character is represented by these jewels and that is what He sees in us as He rebuilds.
It's all hard work, but I want to rest in Him and in His presence while I move through this.
Comments
Post a Comment