Another Shift

A sorrowing heart is a strange thing. It beats along - even when it would rather not - speaking with every beat. Then suddenly, it shifts, changing its message. Oh, it still speaks of the old message, but it speaks differently.

And mine has shifted. It's happened before. I imagine it will happen again.

When my husband was diagnosed with terminal cancer and given one to three months, six at the outside, to live, it shifted. It cried out "NO!!!!" and went into fight mode. It prayed, it begged, it bargained, and it searched the world for a cure. None was to be found.

When the last hope referred him back to hospice, it shifted. It stopped fighting and started clinging. Going to the bathroom was too far away from him, took too long. It held him, touched him constantly, gazed at him, vowing to never let go, no matter what.

About a week before his death, it shifted. It stopped clinging. It looked at his suffering and began begging God to come take him Home.

When he died, it shifted. It went into shock. It thought it was ready. It was not.

About two weeks later, after everyone had gone home, when the calls and cards and drop-by's began to taper off it shifted. Shock began to wain, anguish took over. Pain as it had never known squeezed it until it just wanted to stop beating all together.

About a month later, it shifted, broken though it was, it went into survival anguish. It recognized that no matter how much it wanted to stop beating, it couldn't and so it forced its body to take the next breath, get out of bed, take a shower, comb its hair, put on clothes - all the while weeping uncontrollably.

In August of last year, it shifted. It began to want to do more than exist. It began to want to live. And it added guilt to the sorrow.

In September, it shifted. It took its body to San Antonio where the "San Antonio Miracle" emotional healing occurred. Over five days, it let God heal, soothe, help it to accept death - and embrace life.

In October, it shifted. It fell in love. And it felt guilty for a minute, but only for a minute, because the San Antonio Miracle had shown it that life was for living and loving and thriving! But in that shift, it began to ignore its loss - which, no matter what, will always be there.

November, Al's birthday, the celebration of earthly life, took it back to anguish for a bit. But new love pushed it past the renewed intensity, soothed it, helped it remember life was for living. And it began to remember loss, but differently, softly, mangageably.

Then another loss, another shift, another anguish. And it began to squeeze again, now sorrowing over two and no longer able to shadow the first loss with the new love, and nothing to shadow the second loss. Loss could not be ignored any longer.

It became desperate as it recognized the return of anguish! "NONONONONO!!!!!" it shouted, "I CANNOT GO BACK THERE!!!!!!!" And so, it tried to ignore and move past the new grief and continued to try to ignore the first grief.

But grief will not be ignored! And in desperation, it made foolish choices. It moved too quickly. Soon it recognized that.

And it shifted.

It began to wait. Be still. But it was impatient. And as it began to finally deal with the grief, the loss, it moved once more, too quickly. And it hurt another heart. And guilt joined sorrow once again. And it went back to stillness, waiting.

And now, it has shifted again. Still waiting. Still being still. Guilt has left. Anguish has left. Sorrow has taken its rightful place and is softly joining life. And calmness has joined.

Thank You, God, for this journey.

Thank You for working in my heart.

Thank You for calm.