Reflections

Casual conversations and encounters often include asking another person how they are doing. I catch myself doing this often, so you are not alone. Grief puts a whole new spin on the question.

When a well-meaning person asks how I’m doing these days, it gives me pause. Do I answer honestly? Will they judge me if I say that a particular day was a crappy grief day and I have no idea how I’m holding myself together? Or do I just say fine for the sake of keeping them comfortable in an awkward situation? Do I even have an answer to the question? Wait. How am I doing?

I ask this question of myself a lot: How am I doing? How am I doing the day to day? Is the struggle obvious? Am I wearing this grief like a shacket on an autumn day?

If you know me, you know that I self-identify as a recovering perfectionist. You know what doesn’t pair well with perfectionism? Grief.

I am a work in progress, learning to lean on others and be okay with my own okayness and foibles, especially through this griefy wilderness. That’s the answer! That’s how I’m doing the day-to-day. It’s not pretty or perfect and wrapped up with a bow. At all.

Pick yourself up, broken pieces and all. Dust yourself off. Lean into and rely heavily on God’s grace. Remind yourself that healing and restoration are on the horizon. Just grow with it. Wear that shacket like a queen.

I’m still here, living in the land of lament, striving forward through the secondary and subsequent losses. Those pinch a bit, and come out of nowhere like a patch of glare ice on a wintery drive. But unexpected blessings pop up in the midst of it all, too.

You may have noticed that I stopped writing for a spell. Why? Rookie mistake of letting the voices of my grief critics (there are several, believe it or not) become intrusive thoughts. Of the countless people who care, support, love, encourage, and uplift me, and a God who loves me more than I can fathom, I let the foolishness in. Thankfully, the voice of truth reigns. I will continue to write. I will prevail and thrive beyond this difficult season.

I mentioned unexpected blessings. Here’s one: this temporary tattoo and bracelet arrived among the many items in a perfectly timed care package from a dear friend who gets me from afar.

Let’s keep going, friends. Love you all.

I’m currently reading “How We Grieve: Relearning the World” by Thomas Attig, and found this to be spot on:

“When we grieve, we must relearn virtually every object, place, event, relationships with others, and aspects of ourselves that the lives of those who have died have touched. Our grieving takes as long as it does because there is so much we must relearn. Where, when, and how the deaths will take on fresh significance is unpredictable, but it is reasonable to expect episodes of grieving through the rest of our lives. None of us does, or indeed can, encounter, or come to terms with the world all at once; what we do encounter can present new challenges later in our lives.”

I appreciate your love, prayers, patience, and support as I continue to relearn my world. Of course, there are good days and not so good days, but I am pushing through them all. Each day, I am striving to see and accept the good, thus, my new wall decor.

With the change of seasons (despite the warm temperatures), I find that I am beginning to sleep more than just a few hours, unlike early on when I was getting very little sleep. That alone feels like such a big step forward. While some of my support has come to an end (GriefShare is a fabulous resource which I highly recommend), pre-existing ones remain (I love my family, friends, and CoP colleagues), and other support sources are emerging from places unknown.

Grief is still hard. God is still good. Peace, friends.

I haven’t written in a while, mostly due to a rather demanding schedule since returning from my vacation, plus some other mind-consuming distractions.

Now nearing four months without my favorite actuary, I’m mindful of the frequency and severity of this grief that continues to infiltrate my days. Perhaps less frequent. Severity depends on how and when the waves of heartbreak hit. Believe me when I say that the hits just keep on coming.

Lately, this journey feels a lot like a platform video game. I think that’s what they’re called. You know, the games where you advance along a path and have to make perfectly timed jumps to reach the next thing, all while trying to avoid falling into the abyss or getting knocked down by whatever the enemy is trying to pummel you with? Yeah, that kind. All of this is happening to a soundtrack of silly music that maddeningly becomes an earworm for weeks on end. Also, you must accomplish this while your game controller is wonky. It’s like that.

You do your best to keep moving forward. Another death-related task comes up that needs to be addressed. Another medical bill comes in the mail. Another event without your person there to accompany you. Another football season is starting and no one to yell at the television. Another day on this wild ride we call life which has precious and few days. Don’t fall into the abyss. It’s like that.

Thankfully, I continue to be upheld by my dearest and nearest ones. I continue making forward progress despite some obstacles and leaps of faith required along the way, wonky controller and all. I’ll claim for myself a level up.

We had a wonderful morning of worship with the 1st Brigade Band. They left an open chair for Dennis.

I cried a little.

Today was another day of firsts and lasts. Today I officiated my first funeral since Dennis’s death. A large crowd gathered at the park to remember a man who was clearly loved and missed by many. I’m reminded of the honor it is to be called to such holy work.

Tonight was the last event I had planned for us as a couple, a dinner train ride that I booked back in April. We took the same dinner train ride back in 2022 and planned to go again for a date night. What can I say? We’re train nerds. I didn’t want to cancel, so I dragged my baby brother along. It was fun to catch up and we even had the same conductor from 3 years ago.

This is a super-sized week of pastoring, bookended by a wedding last Saturday and a funeral this Saturday. Today in particular was a super-sized day, with multiple meetings and memory care worship services. Typically on a day like today, I’d call Dennis to check in throughout the day whenever I caught a break. He’d encourage me to keep going, to stay upright, and to stand firm. He understood the balance of fortitude, empathy, grit, and grace that pastoring requires, without grief on top of it all. I missed those phone calls today more than words can say. The grief is still griefing. My person is still gone. Thank God for kitty cuddles.

Today marks Day 100. No more double digit days from here on out. Today was another first: officiating my first wedding since Dennis died. Today I showed up and made space in my spirit to hold joy for dear ones beginning their lives as husband and wife. Today we sang Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee and I didn’t cry. Today I was blessed to preach on our shared favorite passage of scripture from Philippians 4. I didn’t cry, but I almost did at the until death parts us part of the vows. Today I realized that I was wearing a stole made for me by a friend that I met on our wedding day. I didn’t cry. Another first behind me. Today I am wishing that death hadn’t parted us. And now I’m crying. Doing hard things is still hard.

I purchased and donated this banner to church in memory of Dennis. He always did love the goldfinches. As we’re rapidly approaching “trumpet season” with multiple days when he’d typically play during the service, his presence will be profoundly missed, but his memory will continue to be a blessing.

Another step forward and the end of another era. Thanks to the sales expertise of my son-in-law, Garrett, the camper we affectionately called “Langelittle” (#3) is now in the hands of new owners. I wish them every blessing and many happy memories. Secondary losses are a thing. I will always cherish our special campground memories.