Reflections

Today marks three months and one day since Dennis died. I can now say I made it through the first quarter? Trimester? Season?

Going on our annual Minnesota trip with my sister was sweet and bittersweet. I was excited to show her all of our usual places. I almost called them haunts. Maybe they are now? We explored quite a bit and made lovely new memories as I recalled the good times we shared. The area remains my favorite place on earth, where I feel closest to Dennis and to God.

You can (over)pack your suitcase and leave town for a spell, even finding some glimmers of joy along the way, but grief is a sneaky bugger, a stowaway as it were. Of course, the pastor and social worker sisters called that stowaway out of hiding, named it, shed a few tears, and celebrated baby steps of healing. Let’s hear it for safe spaces and campfires.

While I cannot report that the time away “fixed” my broken heart, I can say with certainty that my spirit needed this time off more than I realized. I shared with some folks recently how my grief feels similar to a period of burnout I experienced (2020, I’m looking at you). The exhaustion of grief, like that of burnout, calls for intentional self-care: I will continue to write these posts. I will continue to lean on my support system. I will continue to tend to my weary spirit, whatever that takes. Remember, I can show up for you best only when I’ve shown up for myself. And so we journey on…

On this day four years ago, I drove from Green Bay to Watertown through a torrential rainstorm. My destination: yet another house showing. The wild real estate market of 2021 saw us outbid on two homes previously (one in Fort Atkinson and one in Watertown), but I remained hopeful as the online listing looked promising. When I pulled up to the house, before I even entered the door, my heart knew that I was home. Could this be the one?

The house IRL did not disappoint. So many of our boxes were checked: A “forever” ranch home for aging in place. A basement space that could be finished if the manchild needed to live with us. A quaint and quiet neighborhood. And a sunroom. I’d always wanted a sunroom.

Our dream home was becoming a reality: our offer was accepted. Was this actually happening? Yes. Of course, our move occurred in stages as I had an interim to finish, Ryan would withdraw from high school, and Dennis was still teaching. Minor details. What a ride.

Why Watertown? Good question. I was serving as an interim in Shawano at the time, and was considering future interim opportunities. Watertown sits nearly at the edge of two synods, so I figured location, location, location. Plus, we would be much closer to Dennis’s family, who we didn’t get to see as often as we wanted. Another bonus: Watertown is close to equidistant from Madison and Milwaukee for times we’d want to venture into a city.

You know where this is going. Without Dennis, our dream home obviously feels different. I can understand why the internet claims that 30% of widows move from their homes. Home ownership comes with many responsibilities and expenses. Our homes are filled with our loved one’s possessions. Hopes and dreams for the future were discussed over meals shared around this table. Memories were made here, good and not so good (like the last time he left the house). Home sweet home can easily become home bittersweet home for some.

Before you get all excited, I’m staying put. While none of us knows what the future brings, I’m choosing to carry on in the place we called home together. Yes, I’m making it my own with touches like pink bedding, a kitty cat welcome mat, and the “smelly” candles that he never liked. Maybe I’ll even consider hosting some holidays (the ones when I’m not working haha). Please wait for your invite as my mindset remains the same on drop-ins: Nope.

May your hearts and homes be filled with every blessing, friends. Cherish every moment.

Always the mathematician, Dennis could solve just about any problem thrown his way, relentlessly working until he found the solution. Try as he might, this skillset did not spill over into other areas. He fully admitted to lacking handyman skills. All the tools and abilities were there, just not the inclination. He joked that was handy with dialing the phone to call someone to get the job done. So, you can imagine my surprise one day back in our Plover era when he announced that he was going to fix the constantly running downstairs toilet. He watched a few YouTube videos and decided it would be a piece of cake. I wasn’t going to talk him out of it.

From the main level of our split-level home, I overheard banging, a few swear words, and a lot of grumbling. What does the pastor wife do? I prayed.  A bit later, he emerged from the lower level, looking worse for wear. I told him that I had been praying. He said he appreciated the prayers. That’s when I announced that my prayers were for him to have the wisdom to call a plumber and not attempt the job himself. We both had a good laugh and the story remains in family lore until this day. And wouldn’t you know those YouTube videos worked after all. He fixed the toilet, at least for a while.

Grief seems to bring out the need to “fix” the situation. As the person directly impacted by the loss, I know in my bones that this can’t be fixed. Grief must be experienced. Well meaning dear ones and folks on the outside may suggest “just get out of the house more” or “busy yourself with work” among other things. While that may help them feel less uncomfortable talking to the grief stricken, it can’t fix the situation. I wish a YouTube video laid out the perfect grief plan like fixing a toilet, but there’s no such thing because grief is so individual. A wise friend and mentor once reminded me, “If you run away, you have to take yourself with you.” Nailed it. You can get out of the house all you want or busy yourself with work until midnight, but you ultimately have to return to yourself and living into your new reality. Again I say, grief must be experienced.

I’m grateful for the folks who fix the broken things. I am currently amassing a list of people to call when things around the house need attention that is beyond my scope or YouTube videos. Sons in law and church folks, I’m looking at you, but I suspect you already knew that.

Someone suggested that I put my griefy posts into a book, so I started one and got a copy printed to share with family who don’t do social media. Thanks for the encouragement. Writing has been healing for me on this journey.

Do you happen to know how many unread e-mails you have in your inbox? How about on your phone? Do you have unread text messages? Have you listened to all the messages in your voicemail? Guess what. Those messages, spams, and even the scams continue in perpetuity after you die. So much for unsubscribing. Oh, by the way, you’ll continue to get snail mail as well. I imagine that will take years to trickle off, i.e., his name will be on envelopes arriving in the mailbox for some time.

This begs the question: What do you do with your loved one’s digital presence when they die? Do you have a list of their passwords to all the things? Do you have access to their clouds? What about the multi-factor authentication-related information? Do you know all the pathways that connect their various subscriptions, streaming services, magazines, memberships, charitable giving, etc., and their payments? Do you even read their e-mails? Listen to their voicemails? Answer their phone? If I had a nickel for every question I’ve pondered in the last 11 weeks, I’d have a few bucks by now.

Well, I can tell you how this widow has been navigating the online and cellular spaces. I mostly let it be. I did silence his phone so I would stop being triggered by the notification sound. I know, I could easily change it, but silencing it feels more fun right now. Now about those e-mails… I choose what gets answered and what remains unanswered. I glance at the e-mails and see if anything looks important. He continues to receive actuarial ratemaking committee meeting invitations and information to review. I did respond to one of those, notifying them of his death. He had also loaned a book to a physical therapist at the hospital who was looking to return it. I responded to let him know to pass the book on to someone else. Some musical groups he formerly participated in were also unaware of his passing. I let them know, too. I didn’t realize how deeply connected he was across many realms.

I believe I have just about untangled all the subscription pathways and such. Fingers crossed. I got to make a spreadsheet in the process, so there’s that. I still love a good spreadsheet. I cancelled a few things, updated contact information to my name on the things I’m keeping, and now know when these things come up for renewal.

We humans continually look for answers when a great deal will be left unanswered: my questions, those e-mails, voicemails, phone calls. That’s okay. We don’t need to have all the answers (note to self: paste that on your forehead). God knows what’s up.

Tonight, I met a dear friend for dinner. Excellent food and great conversation fueled my stomach and spirit. I arrived home to a lovely floral arrangement sent by dear friends to remind me that I am not forgotten. I continue to receive cards as well. I appreciate all of your expressions of sympathy, support, and love. May God bless you as you have been a blessing to me.

While I was watching a grief themed video recently, a phrase caught my attention: Losing a spouse feels like an uphill climb. Bingo! When I think of an uphill climb, the Price is Right Cliff Hangers game comes to mind. You know the one with the little mountain climber who ascends the number of dollars you are away from guessing the correct price while a cute little yodel-y song plays? That one. Maybe that tune should be included in my grief playlist? It’s an earworm at a minimum. You’re welcome.

Uphill climb is an apt description. You’re working against gravity. Grief can bring you down suddenly and out of nowhere. It requires extra effort and energy. You’re pushing through brain fog and fatigue on the daily. Your body knows things are “off” and is telling you to give it a rest. Physical and mental endurance are both necessary. Keep going. Don’t give up. This won’t last forever. It will get better. You are not alone. Rinse. Repeat. Leave those phrases/self-talk on a loop in your mind while you’re at it, you’ll need them.

While I’ve never actually climbed a mountain and don’t aspire to, I’ve experienced more than a few uphill battles in my lifetime. Properly equipped for the journey, you will make it through. Insert something about the full armor of God here. I’ve always thought that prayer is the under armor of God, so throw some of that in, too. Add in a support system and a few other essentials, and you’ve increased your chances of making it to the summit and beyond. You’ve got this!

All of this uphill climbing talk has me thinking. I wonder if Psalms of Ascent, rather than all the Laments, might be helpful right now. Psalm 121 has always been a favorite. “I lift up my eyes to the hills.” I see a pattern here. With God’s help, both the hills and valleys are doable. Thanks be to God.

Photo of the Galena stairs, taken in November 2023. He just had to climb them.

Today I was reminded of the importance of collegial connections and having something to look forward to: retirement in this case, whenever that may be. One of the icebreakers during the workshop had us pondering what our dream retirement looks like. I didn’t have an answer to that question.

Losing a loved one disrupts your life, forcing you to rethink everything. Great. I excel at thinking. I own a t-shirt with the phrase “Professional Overthinker” on it. Yep. That’s me. Think. Overthink. Second guess. Ruminate. Think again. Overthink again. Anyone relate?

How I pictured living out the remainder of my days looks very different now. I’m working with a blank canvas: opportunity, mystery, anxiety. All of that. I trust that a new vision will be revealed as my spirit heals. Did you hear that, God? Your servant is listening.

Lately, I’ve been reading “Finding Meaning: The Sixth Stage of Grief” by David Kessler. The book encourages readers to do exactly what the title says: find meaning through loss by honoring your loved one’s memory in meaningful ways. All of this happens as you navigate searching for meaning and purpose in your own life while you wade in the river of your tears and sorrow. In reading this book, I realize that I’ve already been doing meaning making things and little rituals to remember Dennis, carrying on some of his shticks and whatnot. Finding meaning and purpose in my own life is up for re-evaluation (and overthinking. Ha!).

While my canvas may be blank or blurred, hope abounds. Here’s to healing, health, and hope. And thanks to my colleagues who gave me much needed hugs today

In the days before cinematic universes, we had the Super Friends. Saturday mornings were spent in front of the television watching our favorite characters defeating evil and saving the world from a variety of calamities. My favorite super friend, of course, was Wonder Woman (with Aquaman a very close second). What’s not to love about Wonder Woman? She had it all: confidence, kindness, strength, athletic prowess, intelligence, a magic lasso, and that awesome invisible plane. I have this small Wonder Woman on my home office desk. You press the button on the front, and she says a variety of sayings. She just told me that I am a wonder woman! I suppose that I am because I do a lot of wondering.

Amid this grief era, I wonder when my weary spirit will come back online. You know how it feels when you get the little buffering symbol while waiting for the interwebs to catch up to your need for immediate gratification and the video to play or the screen to load? Now apply that to a person. Yeah, I am buffering.

Back to my wondering. I wonder when a full night’s sleep will return. I wonder when the brain fog will wane. I wonder if this fatigue lasts forever (see lack of sleep and remember the amount of energy grief consumes). I wonder when the paperwork will subside. I wonder what God is up to. I wonder how I am managing to do this. I wonder where the heck my joy went and if it will ever return. I wonder where I will end up once I am beyond the depths. So. Many. Questions. They are rhetorical questions, by the way. I don’t expect answers. Actually, please don’t answer. I know God’s got me and that I’m surrounded and upheld by my people.

If you’ve been wondering what grief is like, this is it, at least for me. I am a wonder woman! Now where did I park that invisible plane?

My Facebook bio reads: Broken. Beloved. Brave. I love God. I love people. I love life.

I consider this to be a fair description of myself. As a human, I’m inherently broken. As a child of God, I am beloved. I don’t know precisely how or when I put the brave part in there. It may have been an aspiration or someone’s observation because most days, I’m feeling quite the opposite. And the love parts? That’s God’s calling on my life: love. Full stop. The life-loving part of me seems to be playing hide-and-seek these days. And now that I think about it, I’m putting on a brave face nearly every day.

Someone recently noted that parts of me were starting to get back to my old self. While that may be an interesting observation (brave face, remember?), that old self is not going to happen, at least not the complete self I was before losing my person. Once you experience a significant loss and the grief takes hold, there is no turning back. Your person is gone, leaving a gaping hole in your heart. While I may appear to be the same person on the outside, I am forever changed within. A quote often (falsely?) attributed to Luther reads, “A Christian is never in a state of completion but always in a process of becoming.” (I don’t have the energy to research properly, so you are welcome to fact-check and correctly cite.) Whoever said it first, that quote resonates with me. I am in an intense phase of becoming. A new creation, right? Just what that creation looks like, only God knows.

I find myself hesitant to post these updates as I wonder if they are downers. However, I remain committed to sharing this grief journey. These updates are just how the grief goes: ride the waves as the tears ebb and flow. I suppose that folks can unfriend, unfollow, or scroll along if they choose. Also know that my concerns extend beyond these grief posts: family, staying up-to-date on world and local events, demands of ministry, administrative tasks relating to death, and tending to my body, mind, and spirit, etc. It’s a lot.

Please know that I continue to do and be the okayest that I can every day. Thanks for walking alongside me. Peace.

Since I live for a good 80’s song reference, here’s one for you. When there’s something strange in your neighborhood, who you gonna call? Ghostbusters, of course. No, this isn’t a ghost story, although I could probably share a few unexplained experiences with you another time. This is all about the who you gonna call.

Most folks have emergency contacts indicated in their phones (I won’t call them by their acronym because, you know). But what happens when you’re the one in the middle of a situation and you’ve got to make the phone calls? Who you gonna call at 2 AM when your person is at the hospital in the middle of a major health crisis? It’s 2 AM. Do you dare call? Do you just text? You don’t really have a whole lot of information yourself at this point, not to mention being in power-through-this mode.

These were decisions I had to make when I found myself driving the longest, darkest 20-mile ride of my life, moving at a snail’s pace, praying aloud for no deer, all while simultaneously racing a helicopter to the next place.  Was the answer obvious? Maybe. The sisters. Notify our sisters. They show up. They stay calm. They always know what to do. I can tell you that being the one making the middle of the night call is just about as fun as receiving one. Not to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m bearing bad news.

The next few hours were spent sending texts en masse to family members. I figured that if folks had their do-not-disturb mode on, they’d pick up the information in the morning. If by chance they heard the text come in and picked it up, that was okay, too. After the first round of texts and phone calls, I did my best to keep everyone updated with any breaking news.

Immediate family, extended family, pastor friends, and close friends who are like family were all subscribed to my medical jargon filled text updates, whether they liked it or not. After a few days of this, I noticed a pattern in my texting: I reached out to Dennis’s network, but not my own. While I was completely and lovingly supported by family members, I didn’t seek out my network of people. That makes me little sad to think about it now. Note to self: unpack that in a safe space later.

Now that Dennis is gone, I haven’t mustered up the courage to remove him from my phone’s emergency contact list. Not only does that feel final, but it requires picking a new primary contact. It also makes you think that if you are no longer your person’s emergency contact because they’re gone, are you anyone’s contact? (I never said grief infused thinking was rational) The whole situation is yet another grief pinch. Ouch.

I’m so grateful that I have a network of folks who love and support me, family and friends that I can call on any time of day. You are a gift. I know who I’m gonna call.

I’ve always been drawn to labyrinths. Some of my life’s most significant moments of discernment happened in labyrinths. If you’re not familiar, their winding paths serve as a metaphor for life or one’s spiritual journey. Moving along their path towards the center, you encounter unexpected twists and turns, moving you closer to and then away from the center. Like a labyrinth, sometimes life sends you on an apparent detour, but you keep moving forward towards the center. At times along the journey you may feel lost, but you persist and ultimately reach the center.

The twists and turns of grief are like this, but also different. Grief feels more like a maze: disorienting, confusing, and frustrating. When you least expect it, you hit a wall: for me today’s wall was a flood of tears that came out of nowhere, for no particular reason. Sadness, loneliness, and fatigue constantly loom in the shadows. Another wave can easily overwhelm your broken spirit at any given moment.

Keep going. Keep breathing. Pray. Pray lots. Sweet memories of your person bring some consolation, turning you around from those maze dead ends as you re-orient yourself to your new reality. This is just a detour, you tell yourself. Trust the path, wherever it leads, however long it takes. Peace.

Photo of 3-D printed labyrinth I received from my son for Mother’s Day this year. He gets me.