Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Outer Banks Provided Inner Peace

Outer Banks sunriseHaving now been home from the Outer Banks for over a week, I feel I’m better able to speak to my time away. In short, it was wonderful and VERY needed and gave me such an inner peace.

So many aspects of that trip, however, were very difficult: eating alone, being a “fifth wheel” with another family in a tour group, enjoying beautiful sites with nobody to ooh and aah over them with, sitting on the balcony overlooking the ocean knowing the same shoreline (just a bit south) is where I married my sweetheart! It’s not how I planned to spend my beach getaway weekend this year (Joel and I usually go once a year together). And yet…I was still able to experience the beauty of the weekend within the sorrow.

Part of the beauty came from having some moments to simply be me. I wasn’t mommy, friend, family member, co-worker, or any other relationship figure that might define me. I was able to be as raw as I needed to be, weep when I needed to weep, and sleep the hours that best suited me. That was a much-needed gift.

Additionally, I was able to go somewhere I personally had never been. Joel had spent time in the Outer Banks (pre-me), but in my 45 years (most of those in the state of North Carolina), I had never visited this beautiful part of our state. Therefore, there were no memories attached to it. That, too, was a much-needed gift. In every other aspect of my life right now, I see Joel. All I have to do is look into the faces of our children, and I see him (not necessarily in the physical sense in the case of our youngest four or my bio daughter). I see the memories we created that made us a family.

Every time I drive to work or anywhere beyond 20 minutes west of my town, the hospital where Joel and I last spoke to each other, where he took his last breath, and where my life changed forever sits atop hill almost glaring at me as I drive by. The house I live in now…although Joel only got to spend a few months here, his clothes still hang in the closet, his toiletries are still in “his drawer” in the bathroom, and the boxes his boss brought from his locker at work are still sitting in the floor in my bedroom. I simply can’t address those areas right now.

My mind is full of memories I can’t escape. While I don’t want to escape them altogether, it would be nice at times. Just yesterday, driving home from work…I started crying out of nowhere…all because of something that popped into my mind about Joel. Needless to say, my Outer Banks trip allowed a bit of an escape from some of those things, as I was able to fill my senses with new sights, sounds, and smells.

And, while my trip was amazing, and I’m so grateful to my brother and sister-in-law for watching my children so that I could get away, I’m back to the daily “grind” of life and all the heartaches I had before my little trip. I don’t want to discount the trip (I’m ready for another), but I also want to be honest in saying this place in my grief journey is a tough one to be in. It’s the time when most of the initial support starts to dissipate. The people being around…the cards…the I’m thinking of you flowers…they stop, not entirely but enough to feel it. It’s completely normal. People have to get back to their own lives. It happened the first time I became a widow, so I knew to expect it this time. It’s still tough. My hard days are still hard. The shock of Joel no longer being here is still shocking. The single parent difficulties are still there. And, I still need time to grieve. Time (personal time) is what I simply don’t have right now.

That made my precious weekend away that much more special. It gave me time…something extremely rare but very needed these days. Although the sunrise was close, the gift of personal time was the most beautiful thing about my Outer Banks trip. Thank you Abba!


Tuesday, June 6, 2017

Strange Things I Remember the First 24 Hours After Joel Died

What I RememberMy overall memory following Joel’s death and journey Home to Heaven isn’t the best. If truth be told, it’s really been a bit scattered since becoming a widow the first time around six years ago. Even so, I’ve tried my best to piece through the events that took place that first twenty-four hours after saying goodbye to my precious husband. Those things I remember most vividly are probably not the most important to the average person, but they are the very memories that stand out to me.

  1. I sat in the waiting room with my best friend (after Joel had already breathed his last, and I had spent quite some time with him following). I remember thinking… now what? I honestly don’t know what to do now. Can I just stay here?
  2. I talked to my boss around 2:30 am on my way home from the hospital. I remember thinking two things about this call: 1) who does that? and 2) what a special man to want to call and check in within the first few hours of my saying goodbye to my earthly love. He had already spent the better part of the afternoon and evening, along with his wife, at the hospital with us.
  3. When I walked into my house, I was greeted with a hug by a friend and fellow co-worker. She’d never been to my new home in Hickory before, and she drove the distance from Asheville just to make sure my kids weren’t alone and that all of Joel’s family who were in town and wanted to be at the hospital could be there. I remember hugging her neck when I first got back to the house as a new widow. It felt strange, yet comforting. In many respects, it was like having a strange “out of body experience”. This couldn’t be my life right now, I thought to myself. Sadly…it was.
  4. I remember going to lay down in my own bed soon after getting home. That was strange to me, because I wasn’t able to sleep in my own bed for several weeks after Chris died. This time, the grief was different. I was ready to crawl back into my bed, even with the loss very evident beside me. Sleep? Didn’t happen except for an occasional doze or two. I kept running through the script of how to tell my youngest children their daddy wouldn’t be coming home (in just a few short hours when they woke up to greet the day). How is a mother ever prepared to do that? Especially with my newly adopted children. They just gained a two-parent family, now we’re down to one. What will go through their little minds upon hearing this news?
  5. My crash came later in the day. In my recliner in the living room. I don’t even remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up to many familiar faces around me. Co-workers, friends from my Asheville church, family, and I’m not even sure who else was here. They were entertaining my children, filling my pantry, cooking food, watching me sleep, and talking all around me. And…yet, I slept through much of it, right in their presence. I think my body finally collapsed to the point of no return until it received enough rest to go on.
  6. I remember my next-door neighbor, who I had not yet met up to that point, walking in with a ton of BBQ and all the fixin’s. She was a nurse at the hospital where I just left my husband for the last time.
  7. I remember seeing Anna walk in the door and never being so happy to see my oldest girl. She was with me when I collapsed after Chris died, and it seemed so strange not to have her with me as I said goodbye to Joel. But, she was with me now.
  8. I remember seeing some of the same faces that were in my home the day I became a widow the first time. And…less than six years later, we’re here together again. Mourning another life lost. Celebrating another eternity gained.
  9. And…I remember thinking what is so wrong with me that I can’t stay married? That love always ends so abruptly for me? Why can’t I have the “happily ever after”?

Sometimes, I try to wrap up my posts into a pretty box with a beautiful bow on top. I just can’t seem to pull that off this time. This is one of those raw, ugly, tears-falling-down-my-cheeks-as-I-type posts. As I heal, I need both types. Maybe somebody out there needs the ugly packages too.

Even so… #HeIsStillGood