Reflections

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.

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.