Reflections

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.

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.