In the quiet

In the quiet of the morning

God sits with me,

just as I am,

in all my brokenness. 

 

He doesn't turn His face

from my grief

but sits in it with me

as I remember.

 

He doesn't laugh

as I wonder 

"panic attack or heart attack?" 

and look up the symptoms of each 

for the third time this week.

 

In the quiet of the morning,

God sits with me,

just as I am,

in all my brokenness. 

 

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High 

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

~~ Psalm 91:1 ~~  

Honestly, it's such a weird year!

It really is!

 

It's "my month".

And the grief is heavier this year.

And lighter.

 

Or maybe I'm handling the "heavy" differently.

Or maybe it's heavier for a different reason 

I don't know,

but it's weird.

 

All of 2025 I grieved more,

was more aware of my Al's absence,

cried more than I had in a while.

I was NOT looking forward to January!

And here it is, dreaded January...

no tears, just heavy awareness.

 

Night before last was the night I have felt guilt over

for 13 Januaries starting with the offending one

where I broke my promise to keep him home to die.

And this year, the night passed and I didn't remember

until yesterday.

In the space of less than a second,

I felt relief at the sign of a heart continuing its healing journey

and crushing guilt that I had forgotten an important day in his walk Home.

    I hadn't gone to his gravesite.

        I hadn't rehearsed - again - in my mind,

        the reasons in-patient hospice was the right choice. 

            I hadn't wept at my "felt" betrayal.

PLEASE!!!

In a grief journey,

please,

never forget,

feelings are not facts!!!

Or in any journey for that matter. 

 

It made me wonder about the heaviness of the last year.

How many other things about the "walking Al home"

did my heart remember but my mind did not.

I know for certain of at least two times

because a day or two later I would think

"Ahh, that's why I was so sad that day!"

 

This is something in my grief journey I did not anticipate at this point.

False-guilt over healing.

I experienced a lot of that in the first few years.

    "HOW cqn you smile!?!?!?" 

        "HOW can you wish it would just stop hurting for a minute!?!?!?!

        The pain is what connects you to him!!!" 

            "HOW can you WANT to move forward, live live 

            when he isn't here to live it with you!?!?!?!"

                "HOW in the world can you even THINK about remarriage!?!?!?"

                    "YOU KISSED ANOTHER MAN!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!" 

But the last several years have been false-guilt free.

Except for in-patient hospice day.

And that always initiated a sense of false-guilt and betrayal.

Yes, I always call it false-guilt

because that's what it is.

 

I follow a fellow griever on FB, Gary Sturgis,

Who is me from a male perspective

(except more faithful to posting).

https://www.facebook.com/SurvivingGriefGarySturgis 

He has just commemorated the 12th anniversary

of his beloved wife's death.

I made the following comment on his recent post,

"Reflections of a Griever".

 

I will hit the 13th anniversary in 15 days. 

I am joyfully, happily remarried to a widower 

who commemorated his 12th anniversary in September. 

You are right. Grief softens. It changes. 

It morphs into - dare I say it? - a friend. 

We talk often about our co-beloveds - 

I use that term because we don't love each other instead of them, 

we love each other in addition to them. 

It is a rare day one or both of their names are not mentioned. 

There are no days they are not thought about. 

Grief and happiness CAN co-exist! Work THROUGH your grief. 

And don't plan to retire from it. 

But accept the promotions it offers as time goes on. 

 

Those last two lines,

 

And don't plan to retire from it. 

But accept the promotions it offers as time goes on. 

 

That right there is my "take away" for this post!

And I think I will be accepting this "forgetting" promotion moving forward.  

 

 

 

2025 is a wrap

2025 has been a hard year.

A quiet year writing-wise. 

This 13th year,

a mere 25 days from completion,

has had more than its share

of painful moments.

It has been a consistently darker year. 

I find myself somewhat surprised.

 

I mean, come on, the 13th anniversary is just around the corner!

Shouldn't I be in "status quo" by now?

You know, those moments of grief,

but overall, ticking along nicely

without a lot of heartache or tears. 

But that's the thing.

In grief, there is no "status quo".

Not even in spousal loss!

 

Having been an intimate participant in widowhood,

one would think I would know that by now.

However, even I find myself caught up in the social assumption

that widowed grief is really bad at first

but that it is not lasting like that of child or parental loss.

Maybe because that would be so much more convenient.

 

Part of the issue, I feel certain,

is the scratching open of the wound.

Two cousins have been widowed within the last year

and as I have walked with them through the loss,

and one through the losing,

my own wounds can't help but open,

can't help but become sore, tender.

I "feel" with them.

It is part of what makes me an effective partner in their journeys.

It is also painfully vulnerable. 

 

Perhaps it was knowing that my Al

would have entered a new decade of life this year

had he still been having earthly birthdays.

But he is, 

as I have heard mamas say about their children,

"forever 57".

I hadn't thought about that until recently,

"forever" an age works with all death loss

with the "forever" being exponentially more significant

the younger the deceased.

As spouses go, "forever 57" is pretty darn young!

Or at least it feels that way to me!

 

Maybe it was some health issues

my Lanny Love is experiencing,

the reminder that one of us will do widowhood again,

and the fear that it would be sooner than either of us hope and pray. 

 

Maybe it's because one of our daughters

and her family

have had an exceptionally rough year emotionally.

 

Maybe it's because our granddaughter got her driver's license this year

and he should have been here to beam proudly

and tease her about not running into the house

as she pulled into our driveway for the first time on her own. 

 

Maybe.........a lot of things. 

 

I want a reason.

But in reality, there probably isn't one.

It simply has been a year of missing more...

    wondering more...

        actively grieving more... 

That, quite simply, is the way of widowhood.

The love doesn't die,

so the grief doesn't either. 

 

I anticipate that 2026 will have its moments.

This is the year we should be celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary.

 

Is it okay that I feel a twinge of jealousy

when others celebrate theirs?

 

I imagine this year's birthday will sting

just like all the others have.

I imagine there will be heartaches and celebrations

that he and I should share

just as in all the previous years.

 

But can I be honest?

I am looking forward to,

praying that,

the consistency of heartache and missing that has been 2025

will once again ebb,

once again become gently lapping waves

instead of the tsunami of emotions

that 2025 brought with it.