My Charles passed away two years ago. Everything around me seemed to crumble. We were in another state when it happened, and all that was involved in just processing, was (and still is) a blur.
The church family in TN where we went while there, had a wonderful service for him before we left. Then it was a matter of getting back to MD, figuring out dates for the funeral while making sure all five of our children and families could be here, since all but one live outside of MD.
Making matters worse, is we were closing in on Thanksgiving week! We were finally able to work out the details and everything fell into place.
ALMOST EVERYONE LEFT
After everything was over, all of my children went back to their home state and I moved around in a fog after the funeral. With my daughter’s help who lives next door, we were able to get the immediate financial side of things worked out, but still there was so much to do.
JANUARY SURPRISES
Christmas came and went, but by early January things got really weird. Right before Charles passed we adopted a white German Shepherd puppy. He was adorable and he was supposed to be Charles’ support dog and was VA approved. He was a busy little critter and I could barely keep up. I almost didn’t have the emotional energy to even try.
Then the big snowstorm of the year hit. Twelve inches of snow on the eastern shore is an anomaly. Charles’ brother came and dug us out and I was delighted. I could finally walk the puppy where snow wasn’t knee deep. (I’m short! 12” is a lot!) And he was still a little puppy, and needed snow moved –to move around!
BECOMING DEPENDENT!
Early one morning, I’m out walking the pup, and hit an area of ice and ended up with a serious concussion! (It wasn’t because he was pulling on the leash, I just slipped backward onto the new asphalt!) It meant a trip to the ER and more doctor visits and a week of unable to do anything, per doctor’s orders! It meant I became for a time, very dependent on my daughter and family.
I felt horrible physically and emotionally! Trying to handle things became even more frightening! The ‘grieving fog’ had been bad enough, but with the injury, it became even worse! My family next door was wonderful, but admitting that I couldn’t handle all that was going on at the time, was—well…humiliating.
SLIPPING AWAY
I’d always been the one to get things done! I was the steady helper for my husband for years. Now with his loss, I felt frail and incompetent! I felt guilty for not having the energy I’d always had. I didn’t like admitting my limitations from what I once was.
I didn’t recognize myself in other ways, as well. Grieving was hard and so spontaneous, that I’d burst into tears over what seemed like nothing. I felt weak and sometimes, felt like I was slipping away. I doubted my ability to go on, and did my best to say ‘I’m okay’; I’ve got this. But I wasn’t.
DEPENDS ON THE DAY
On Sundays I’d go to church and everyone would ask how I’m doing. I’d usually just smile and say, “It depends on the day.” Then someone would ask something specific and I couldn’t answer— nor stop the tears.
But in spite of all this, I knew God was there, even if He felt silent. I don’t know if He really was silent; it was more likely me, since I couldn’t focus long enough to even realize that in my grief, He was showing me immense grace.
And maybe God wasn’t silent at all. Maybe I just couldn’t hear Him through all the noise of my grief.
I’d kneel beside my bed at night to pray and the words just wouldn’t come…but tears did. I’ve learned since that time, that tears can be a prayer. God hears us even when our minds are blank and our hearts are broken.
RECOGNIZING LIMITATIONS
Recognizing our limitations is not shameful thing, or a show of weakness. When we can bring our hearts with honesty before the throne, He is there to wrap his arms around us and hold on tight! Through His grace we can trust in his healing power.
We may not get all the answers immediately to our minds running in overdrive, and most times we don’t need someone to fix anything. We just need someone willing to sit beside us while we hurt. Maybe that’s the honest invitation we need to voice: “Come have coffee with me. I don’t need you to fix anything. I just need someone near.”
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