Wednesday, February 23, 2011

So Much to Hate, and Yet.

I have been without him for 60 days. Two months today.

There is so much to hate about this. So very much to hate.

I am a widow. I am 31, and I am a widow.

His smile, his conversation, his laughter... they are gone.

I have lost much confidence, strength, and security. I have lost our routines. I have lost the familiar.

There is no natural highlight to my day; he doesn't come home from work anymore.

My children are so young, only three and five. They are fatherless.

I hate this for them. I hate this.

My three-year-old has bad dreams and cries for his daddy in his sleep. He was once a joyful, free spirit, and now he is often frightened or angry.

My five-year-old is trying to grow up too fast, preparing himself for the worst, taking on worries and responsibilities that are not his, and always readying himself for the moment when I might die too.

My sons ask about him often, when he'll come back, if he still belongs to us. They wish for him and remember. They are so small that I fear they will remember very little. I must carry the memories for them.

I weep for them, for what has been taken, for what they don't know yet that they don't have.

I hate the unwelcome anxiety, the unannounced panic.

I hate the long days and the short nights. I hate falling asleep, the hours I miss him most. I hate waking up, when I must remember all over again that this new day won't hold him for me.

I hate the trembling, the fear, the shaking, the worry.

I hate the loneliness, the deep sadness, the swallowing grief.

I am single. I am a single mom.

There are three of us now.

I am a widow. Unexpectedly, so very tragically, I am a widow.

There is so much to hate about this.

But, somehow, I am not overcome. Somehow, each day begins again. Somehow I feed the boys, get them dressed to face the day, and teach them words like 'strong' and 'courageous.' Somehow, I put one foot in front of the other. Somehow, my broken heart continues to beat on its own.

In God's goodness, by his grace, he is holding me above bitterness.

I have felt every shade of sadness, but I have not felt angry.

I have wished, with all my heart, to have my husband back for another day, for the rest of our lives together, to raise our children together, to finish our plans. I have wished to have him here, but I have never questioned God's sovereignty.

I feel a quiet purpose in this.

I do not feel like it is a horrifying mistake.

I feel thankful for more than a decade of marriage, instead of robbed of the four or five more decades I had hoped for, even planned on.

Daily I grieve the injustice of loss, the unfairness of death.

ButI have not believed God to be unjust or unfair.

The Lord has gifted me in ways I am still learning, and I am becoming more familiar with my gifts of faith and discernment.

In the face of this tragedy, although my heart aches with a raw deepness I have never known, I believe God is on his throne, and I believe there is purpose in his plan.

By his grace, I am not overcome.

I know where my hope and my husband rest, and they are both with the Lord Jesus Christ. I know my eternity is secure, and I know I will see Robb there.

Sometimes it feels unfathomable to get through this week, this month, this year, or the next.

But by his grace, I do. This is his gift to me.

By his grace, I am not overcome.


I trust in your unfailing love;
My heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
For he has been good to me.
Ps. 13: 5-6


Robin said...

Tears stream down my face for all that you have lost... and as I realize that you are living proof: God IS faithful and good. Loving you & praying continually...

boo4baby said...

You make me see again that we don't cling to Him; He clings to us when we can't hold on. What a God. Continuing to pray.....

Amy said...

Praying for you now.

K.P. said...

Bravo, Sweet Lady!! Well said! And just being able to honestly say that, is a gift in itself. You are an inspiration to many and I, for one, am growing through watching your journey. You are walking my worst fear. But, what if....then GOD! You are so brave and I admire you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for sharing so honestly.

Sally said...

You don't know me. I am a Chapel member from Akron - and have followed your blog since hearing the news about Robb.

Firstly, let me say that you are an amazing writer. What a gift God has given to you -- and to be able to use that as an outlet for your feelings -- again, a gift.

I am new to the blogging world, and have so appreciated your stories during this journey of yours.

I read your post today, and was so taken with how God has outfitted you for this journey. {Indeed, He is good all the time - even in the painful times.} Today, I sensed more than ever, that you are in an "okay place" with God -- questioning, and yet not doubting. Hurting, but still trusting. Always trusting. What a testimony.

I don't find myself walking the same path as you - and yet I am touched and greatly moved by your words. I'm sure that God is using your words mightily for others who ARE on the same path as you.

God bless you as you seek to glorify him.

In Christ,

Elisabeth said...

Thank you so much for sharing this today! My sorrows are different from yours, but as I read your post today, I was filled with a new hope and joy in the Lord.

I often weep for my son, for what has been taken from him, for what he doesn't yet know that he doesn't have. Thank you for the reminder of God's goodness and His grace.

God truly has been good to you and to me!

Renee said...

Every day I read. Every day I want to leave a comment and let you know I'm here, listening. Every day I want to, but every day I have no words to say. All that seems appropriate is to sit and listen and hear you like a friend in a coffee shop with a warm cup of coffee and no need to say anything. But of course, you can't do that on a blog and because you're speaking and you don't know who's writing, it's all one sided. But I want you to know I'm here, listening, sitting, drinking coffee, feeling and praying.

I love you and your family (if that's possible through the internet).

Thank you.

Jodi said...

Can I just say, "me too" for Renee's comment? Today I love how God shows Himself to us through your blog. This is what it looks like when Jesus carries you. And it hurts, hurts hurts to know you suffer. But I'm also in awe of the God who holds you while it hurts.

nifty penny said...
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Penned Pebbles said...

I've been reading your blog for the last several days now and Renee has taken the words right out of my heart and mouth. I could not have said it any better.

My thoughts and prayers are with you and your boys!

allison said...

The ladies are absolutely right...very well said Renee. I too listen, am inspired, am in awe of God's work in your our lives! Tears stream down my face as I sit here listening. I am inspired by your honesty, your faithfulness, and God's grace!

Even though we are not sitting across a Starbucks table from you, we are listening and praying with and for you and your beautiful family of 3!

lindajanek said...

You don’t know me, but, as a parent of Green High School students, Dan and Rachel Price, I remember you and your brother. I’m also Amy Rogers Bates’ aunt.

I have been reading your blog ever since the day that Amy asked for prayer for you when Robb passed away on Dec. 23. I read and I pray and I cry. You see, Dan and Rachel’s dad passed away when he and I were 27 and Dan was four and Rachel not quite two.

And so, I’ve entered into your story and understood your pain and wished that I could hold you and cry with you and let you know that things will get better. Things are forever changed. You are forever changed. But God will remain constant. He will be your Husband, your Protector and your Rock. He will be a Father to your sons.

One day, you will come out of the fog of this gut-wrenching, consuming thing called grief and you will be able to see clearly again. But give yourself time--plenty of time. God is not impatient with you. I believe that He weeps with us when we suffer the effects of the Fall—death, separation, loss. But He holds the future and He’s holding you and your precious little boys, even when it doesn’t feel like it.

Know that I am lifting you up before our Father.

lindajanek said...
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