Pine Trees and Rain
Hello, dear readers! I know it’s been several months and some of you who don’t know me personally may not be aware of what has happened in my life. Honestly I’ve sat down to write this blog a dozen times but could never find the words. Today I did.
I will have to warn though, my friends. This blog may sound or feel disjointed compared to my previous ones. Disjointed is actually a good description of how I feel daily. But even if this is true of this blog, my prayer is that some part of what I write may settle into your heart and ease a pain, give a feeling of hope or give you a way to invite God into your own disjointed life.
In July, on an ordinary day, my whole life changed. Early one morning my husband Bud and I, went to the church we serve at, the one our journey took us to when we sold everything and moved across the country to help start, to finish working in a garden we had created on the property. We worked together for several hours and when I left to go home, Bud called me back to where he was standing, gave me a kiss, told me that I was incredible and that he loved working with me and said “See you soon.” He had an appointment he needed to keep so when he came home, took a quick shower, kissed me and the girls goodbye, I had no idea it would be my last time. My last kiss, my last hug. He died suddenly upon arrival of that appointment of an unexpected heart attack.
Even as I write those words, it still doesn’t seem real. Not even a little. Yes, everything about my life has changed but I still find myself holding out hope that he’s in New Orleans on one of his lengthy trips and will walk through my front door at any moment. I reach for my phone to call him on a regular basis. The love of my life, my very best friend in the whole world, the one who truly saw me, got me, loved me just as I am, is gone.
Many days I live in a land of pure numbness or outright panic and grief with moments and hours where joy is found and experienced. Every day the loneliness grows. I have attempted to put on a brave face when I’m in the company of people but it’s mostly for me and not them. It gives me a short reprieve from the pain.
And yet…
God is faithful and present. He speaks to me in familiar ways as well as new ways now that I’m alone. In the last few weeks He has given me the ability to breathe again, to interact with friends again, even to preach again last week. He has assured me that there is more for me to do for Him; that my life will look different but He will never change. Time is a funny thing. The afternoon that Bud passed, I remember thinking that I’d never get through the night. I was certain that my heart would burst as well and the pain would take me out of this misery. To write that he has been gone for almost 4 months is mind blowing. How can this be? How has it happened? God. Somehow He is able to give you the strength to put one foot in front of the other, day after day after day. Take one breath after another. And this is true whether it’s a great loss like death but also any life changing event that you experience. Don’t try to figure out what you’re going to do tomorrow or next week and definitely not next year. Today is all we have. Breathe in and out and trust. Let that faith dig deep and grow roots that are immovable.
And then there are days like today whenI feel like I can dare to dream again. I’m revisiting passions in my life that I haven’t done anything with in years. I love food and cooking and teaching people about the joy of both. I wonder what God can do with that?
Today I took a long drive up through the mountains to a farmer’s market. Honestly the drive takes 3 times longer than the walk around the market does but Bud and I loved the drive. I took the picture above from a lookout point on my way there. It was so beautiful. I was only there for a moment because it was starting to rain but the air was filled with the smell of pine trees so strong I had to look around to see if I could find them. They were nowhere to be found. As I got in my car and got ready to drive off, I had to stop and smile at God’s goodness as I watched the rain softly fall on my windshield. Bud and I LOVED rain. I mean, seriously loved rain. And his absolute favorite trees were pine trees. Coincidence? I don’t think so. I loved the idea of me looking up into those huge tall mountains and Bud maybe looking down at me in the rain surrounded by the smell of pine trees.
It was a gift. One that I will hold on to when the darkness envelopes me again. I have described my life right now as bittersweet. Although I am not bitter (angry but not bitter) it rightfully describes how my pain is woven together with the sweetness of my life. The moments of joy when my girls kiss me and tell me “I love you, Mimi.” The awe I feel when I hear our friends in both states talk about what Bud and I have meant in their lives. The hope I feel when I write, when I preach, when I set aside my sorrow and speak life into another person’s heart. Bittersweet.
It really sums up all of our lives if we’re honest. Moments of great pain, uncertainty, fear mixed with times of great celebration, simple joys and love.
I’ve learned so much about loss in the last few months. I’ve lost all of my precious grandparents and an uncle who was more like a younger brother to me as well losing Bud’s precious uncle just this week but losing my husband has been so very different. And although it’s not something I’d wish for anyone, I can now have compassion for those who have lost a spouse in a way I never could before. In the past, I’ve said all the cliché things, the Bible verses, the words. But none of them rang true to me when I was on the receiving end. The hard truth is this. There are no words. There are certainly no right words that can either convey the depth of sorrow felt from the person saying them or that can bring anything other than a fleeting moment of peace to the one receiving them.
It’s not that the words aren’t appreciated or the sentiment in which they are given not genuine. Honestly it’s that the person experiencing the loss can’t hear them. In some instances they literally can’t hear them. For the first several weeks, in my case, my ears rang so loud that I could hardly hear what people were saying much less process any of it. I marveled at my ability to comfort others during the memorial service and at times even speak words of encouragement and purpose. It was like I was outside myself. Who is this person speaking of hope and positivity? Does she not understand what is actually happening? The truth. No. No she didn’t. My counselor calls it the shock of grief in those early days that help propel you through the necessary obligations. But oh, when that shock wears off, the pain hits full force and knocks the wind out of you.
I say all of this to say to you, dear reader. Don’t feel like you have to find some profound thing to say in hopes of it lifting the person experiencing loss out of the grief. It won’t happen. It’s not possible. They literally can’t hear or process the words being spoken to them. Just be there. Love them. Check up on them weeks after the funeral is over and everyone has gone home. That’s when they will need you most. A call, a text, an invitation to lunch or as more than one friend has done for me, just ask them to sit out by a park or a lake and say absolutely nothing.
Don’t feel the need to express your condolences on public places like social media right away. Give the family time to let those closest know personally. The sentiment is very sweet but the repercussions of that can be very painful for the family. Write a card, send a text or message but don’t feel slighted if the person doesn’t answer back. They can’t. They don’t have the ability to for weeks or months. But when they can, going back and reading what their loved one meant to you is a precious gift that they can go back and read over and over again. I know I have on those dark days and it lifts my spirit.
But most of all pray for them. Cover and surround them with prayer. They may not know it but they can feel it. Of that I am sure.
There is so much more but for today, I wanted to share this with you and let you know that I am still here. I may be quiet but I think of all of you often and I’ve missed you. I’m not sure how often I’ll write an entry but please keep checking back. Reading comments that anything I’ve written has spoken to you in even the smallest way lets me know that I’m not alone. I’ve heard this saying for several months now. We’re better together.
Indeed we are.
