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