Reflections

It turns out that I’m a creature of habit when it comes to my vacation time each year: spring time change week, wedding anniversary week in June, Minnesota in September, and the week before Thanksgiving.

The November week usually includes decorating the house for Christmas, and for the last three years, writing our tell it like it is holiday newsletter. With the house in good enough shape for this year, I sat down to begin crafting this year’s newsletter early this morning. So many thoughts. Do I title it? How about “2025, and one of us is no longer alive” Yikes. That wouldn’t quite work. Tell it like it is, remember?

I started a photo album in January to make this year’s holiday newsletter that much easier. Oops. January through May were great. Those photos stirred up the memories. Tears. Smiles. All of that. I’m grateful to have captured the moments. Now I just needed some words and additional photos to fill in the rest of the year my life turned upside down.

As with all creative endeavors, I simply needed to crack my heart open and pour it out onto the page, screen, keyboard, whatever. This is why down time is absolutely necessary: to recharge one’s creative spirit so the words can flow freely.

Wouldn’t you know, all the pieces fell into place tonight. No title needed. Tell it like it is: life, love, gratitude, and grief.

If you noticed that I’ve been posting less of my grief journey in recent days and weeks, you are correct in your observations. Rest assured, I’m not over it. Grief doesn’t work that way. I’m making my way through. Another significant stressor required my attention. I *think* that situation will improve after a breakthrough with a dash of boldness. That little rebirth of my being came out kicking and screaming. Phew. This is your reminder to always advocate for yourself.

Now to get back to it. Another sign I was not properly tending to my own healing: the physical manifestations. The horrible headaches. The insomnia. The fatigue. The brain fog. The random familiar and unfamiliar body pains. The anxiety. I’ve been telling myself for months now, “Feel the feelings. Cry the tears. Let it out. Don’t get sick.” Don’t. Get. Sick. You’ve got to process this stuff, folks. If you don’t, your body will remind you to do so.

I listened to a poop-ton of audiobooks about grief in the last 5 months. They are balm for my spirit as I face and embrace the aloneness that accompanies each day’s end. In the book “Understanding Your Grief: Ten Essential Touchstones for Finding Hope and Healing Your Heart,” Alan Wolfelt explains the difference between grief and mourning: “Grief is the constellation of internal thoughts and feelings we have when someone we love dies. … Mourning is when you take the grief you have on the inside and express it outside of yourself.” I find that so helpful in my understanding of all that’s happening for me right now. These writings = mourning. Aha!

I am going to get through this season, tending to my grief, mourning in this way, so that I may live out whatever remains of my own life as holey (with parts of my heart and soul gone), wholly loved by God, while doing the holy work of grief and mourning to encourage and inspire others making their way on their individual and adjacent grief paths.

Ummm, I think I just updated my life mission statement. Peace be with you, dear ones.

5 months today. During this first year, it feels right to mark the months. In some ways, it feels like 5 years. In other ways, it feels like 5 days. The details of the morning I received the “are you sitting down” phone call remain fresh in my memory.

Sharing my grief journey continues to provide some sense of meaning and purpose in an otherwise vast wilderness of discomfort: Not all pain. Not all sadness. Emptiness of a spirit waiting to be refilled, drop by drop. Profound gratitude. Reorientation towards a new vision of the future, where hope abounds, because there is always hope in Christ.

Always forward. Peace, friends.

As a pastor and person who prefers to plan, I am often thinking and working ahead on the next season of the church year, holiday, etc. This trait came in handy when Dennis fell ill and died. I had three months of worship services planned (aside from sermons, I’m not that person).

While grief is teaching me to be more mindful of living in the moment, old habits are hard to break. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been planning Thanksgiving Eve, Advent, and other stuff leading up to but not including Christmas. Typically this would be an exciting and joyful task for me as I’d often create a new sermon series or at least latch onto an obvious overarching theme. Not so much this year.

While my grief work reminds me to anticipate these “first” holidays with realistic expectations of their upcoming blessings and challenges, that takes emotional fortitude. When your storehouse is stuffed with grief, even the smallest things can feel like a chore, including the things you’ve done on repeat, like planning church stuff: This is your gift, woman. It’s well within your wheelhouse. You can do this. The energy the endless pep talks take, all while fending off some other noise and nonsense. Phew. By the grace of God, I’m doing this.

If you are living through a grief season and facing the “first” holidays this year, I am with you in solidarity. I am here for conversation and commiseration. We will get through this. God will show up as God always does, exactly when and where needed.

If you are accompanying someone who is experiencing grief, here are some tips for their care and feeding this holiday season: Be gentle. Continue to show up for them. Send a text or a card. Talk about their deceased loved one by name. Don’t expect them to be either super gloomy or super celebratory. Whatever they are feeling is valid. Invite them to things but don’t freak out if they cancel because they just can’t. Understand that grief comes at unusual and unexpected times and ways.

I am so grateful for you all, especially your prayers, presence, and patience during this season of my life. God is good, from strength to strength. Blessings.

I am filled with gratitude this All Saints Sunday. Bishop Joy preached and presided today, so I was able to worship among the saints of my congregation. My sister was beside me the entire service and enjoyed meeting the folks of St. Luke’s. While I missed hearing the trumpet, I have no doubt that Dennis is among the saints in light playing with the best. I treated myself to supermarket flowers for doing another hard thing.

Grief isn’t all sadness. As time moves forward, grief evolves. If you are in the early stages of acute grief, know that the level of yuck you are experiencing right now will diminish. That’s not to say that every day will be a banner day. Some dumpster fire days come out of nowhere, so you stop, drop, and roll with it.

Imagine yourself covered in sticky notes. Each one represents a loss you experienced at some point in your life. The dog who died. The layoff. The divorce. The bankruptcy. The friend who betrayed you. The car accident. The deaths of family members, friends, and acquaintances. Insert other losses here. You get the idea.

You’re walking around with all of these losses. Some of the sticky notes fall off as time passes and you process the grief associated with these cumulative losses. Everyone has these sticky note grief inducing events, even the folks who deny their existence, claiming to shake them off and have “gotten over it.” If we could see each other’s sticky notes, perhaps our love, understanding, and compassion would multiply.

With apologies to Taylor Swift, you can shake it off, but guess what? Later on you may very well find one stuck to the bottom of your shoe or lingering in your jacket pocket, triggered by an unexpected event, memory, place, or situation. Grief is sticky like that. It never fully goes away.

Did I mention that we ought to be mindful of the stickiness? If you find the losses are hanging on like the superglue construction worker of the 1980 television commercial, you may be stuck in grief. Your spirit will know if this applies to you. Listen to your family, friends, and others who love you. There is no shame in seeking the help of professionals.

As this path of healing beckons you forward, remember that you are not alone. Allow God’s transformative presence and power to break through the pain and sorrow as you process and heal. Grief seasons are growth seasons. While growth comes with varying levels of challenge, it also comes with heaping helpings of grace. Give yourself some. You will get through this.

One of my many takeaways from GriefShare was actually a suggestion for children who are grieving, but really applies to all ages. In fact, I’ve shared this practice with some adult family members.

I am not one to hold conversations with my dead husband. I know a lot of folks find meaning in talking to their deceased loved ones. That’s great. Do what works for you. That practice hasn’t felt comfortable for me as I never seem to hear anything back. Sigh. Believe me, I’d love to know what Dennis would say about a number of things lately.

Now about that takeaway, which I believe I understood correctly. (Grief brain is still a thing.) The suggestion was to give a family member an LED candle to light whenever they want to talk to their deceased loved one. You “light” the candle as a reminder of the person while you talk. I suppose you could also do this for a pet. I love this idea for a child (and my mother-in-law).

I’m so doing this, but in my own way. I’ve got candles. And I’ve got a lot to say. Because I’m always thinking about church stuff, I am pondering All Saints Day and the connection to all those who have gone before us, now including my husband. The Church Triumphant gained a good one there.

My understanding and belief is that we do not pray to saints, but we do pray with them. Shazam! That’s the connection. Dennis and I started our relationship as prayer partners. Guess what? We still are. Every time I turn on this LED candle.

There’s your All Saints sermon. And I’m not even preaching this Sunday.

If you are grieving, I highly recommend finding a GriefShare group. You won’t be disappointed.

This time of year I’d typically give Dennis several friendly reminders (I think he called it nagging?) about bringing in the hose and shutting the outdoor water supply off. This was on a list among a handful of other items I jokingly referred to as “a man’s job.” You know, car stuff, house stuff, and gross stuff. He was retired and could take on the work.

Every once in a while one of these tasks comes up, reminding me that acts of service may be one of my love languages after all. Left with no one to nag about taking the car in for the oil change and tire rotation, I did it myself. Of course I’ve done these type of things myself in the past. It sure was nice having the help though.

Well, temperatures are dropping and it is about time for that water shutoff. I had an idea of what needed to be done, but the chore felt so daunting. C’mon, woman, you have a freaking master’s degree. You can figure this out. Why does grief make everything so extra? This is where that anger sneaks it: Dennis, why did you have to die? Why do I have to do this? I’d even let being referred to as a nag slide, maybe just once.

A couple of conversations with experts and a YouTube video or two later, I figured it out. I talked myself out of a panic attack (that’s a water line not a gas line, relax). I did it. Another woman’s job added to my repertoire. Yay, me. Giving myself a gold star.