Thursday, July 11, 2013

Ambushed, Part 2

The house is quiet.  The girls are on an outing.  The cat is asleep, thank heavens (more on that another time!) And the roar of grief, that is typically being held at bay, begins to roll...

It's amazing how much we hold back for the sake of our children.  It scares my girls when I sob and weep in front of them.  It seldom happens.  Alea is scared that I will die, and feels insecure when I cry.  Roya feels scared too, but doesn't verbalize it as easily.  She said to me several weeks ago (I forget whether or not I've written this in a blog already...), Mama, I need you to live just long enough so that I'm old enough to take care of Alea after you're gone.  Yes, children are resilient and "bounce back" as people say.  But, no, they are not unaffected by their father's death and still grieve even though they're young.

Now that I am alone, I can become undone.  I can cling to Lynn's shirts and weep and wail.  It is torturously painful to embrace these emotions.  Everything in me would rather turn on the TV to drown out the sound of my own heart, or poor glass after glass of wine, trying to numb the hot burning sensation throbbing inside my chest...  But this is my moment.  My break.  My chance to grieve.

I grieve the life I left behind. I grieve the life that was. Not just my husband, but every relationship, all the friends and networks we used to share... All of it, I grieve.  And I'm ashamed that I could not say goodbye.  I wasn't strong enough to have the big event, another receiving line, 100's of goodbyes, all those tears...  But oh, how my heart wants to be there and touch each one of those beautiful people I fell in love with in Truro.  I have hundreds of thank you cards written on my heart, but not one of them has made it to paper.  I'm ashamed. It's too painful.  I can't seem to do it. In every generous act you gave, I see love, and I see death.  In every one of your loving faces, I see love and I see death.  In every visit, I feel what I cannot verbalize... That death has happened.  That all of these relationships are affected. That nothing is as it was. That all of it is too much for my mind and heart to process.

I missed my friend's wedding.  I missed my friend's baptism.  I cried through each.  I have to go back, maybe soon.

There are so many blessings in sharing my journey with others.  I rely on your prayers.  I'm comforted by your messages.  I love that others are benefiting. And I can keep connections with so many I would otherwise lose touch with.  But one of the challenges has been the constant presence of loss.  I am never sheltered from the awareness of Lynn's death, (not that I imagine any widow is). His death (and all the losses it entails) are always present right before my face, in one way or another. All the encouragement and love come with a double-edged sword. I would have to be cut off from technology and move to a foreign country to escape the ever present reminders and triggers of loss, sorrow, and death...  Sometimes, I just don't know how much I can take.  Other times I am so profoundly blessed by all the connectivity and loving people...

Well, all there is left is faith, hope, and love.  And the greatest of these is love.

Lord, lead me through this day, through this ambush, through all these memories, flashbacks, sorrows, and losses.  Strengthen me for my family.  Strengthen me for love.  Lead me in the way everlasting for your name's sake...

On a practical note, for the bereaved... When a person (I think any person) is in crisis, the expectation is on them to reach out and ask for help.  And yet, this can be so immensely difficult.  Sometimes, I am fully aware that I need help, fully willing to ask for help, but completely immobilized and unable to pick up the phone or search for a number.  Also, the kids could be screaming and the water boiling over on the stove and my crazy cat meowing incessantly because she's in heat and I have to wait forever to get her to the stinking vet to get her spayed... And I can't get my mind to process who to call, or what I need.  I can't sit down and make a plan and then call the appropriate people to put it into action.  Soooo, I am finally becoming smart enough to make a list for myself, categorizing my needs and the appropriate people to call.  On that list will be a list of names who I can call just to say, I am freaking out.  I need something, but don't know what.  I need help to know what it is I need so I know who to call and how to make it happen... On that list will also be: Man jobs, plummer, electrician, baby-sitters, etc...

Being alone is hard.  Asking for help or sometimes finding help available can be hard.  Maybe my list will come in handy :).

1 comment:

  1. You are SUCH A FORTRESS, YOUNG LADY! I CAN'T know what it would be like to have my wife die at age 30. I would cry forever--my heart would be gone. I cry for you as I write this--hoping you will not think "I don't need input from an old person 100 miles away."We lost a baby at 7 weeks of age. It was hard enough. We had Jesus--our friends seemed to feel worse--we were comforting those who didn't know Jesus --who thought it was the end--knew little about the future reunion in Heaven. What you have gone through is SO-OO much harder. May the God of all comfort grab you in HIS arms as we cry. May God bless you--you who are a warrior for the Lord. Keep writing--it does help for sure--you & also helps others.