Marilyn's Musings

If I had a nickel for every time I picked up a pen, my notes app, or sat down at a keyboard to throw some thoughts together this month, I’d have a dollar or two. But then, like many other good intentions, such as doing holiday baking, deep cleaning the house, or preparing a special meal for myself, it doesn’t happen. The usual demands of December are depleting my energy at an accelerated rate this year. Thanks, grinchy grief. My recovering perfectionist self says, “Do what you can. It will be enough. No one is expecting you to do all the things.” Okay. Now to believe that.

The other morning, a thick layer of hoarfrost coated the trees. As I drove about the countryside, the glistening grabbed my attention, which quickly returned to the icy roads which I needed to navigate. This is how I experience grief these days. Occasionally, some sliver of peace, wonder, or dare I say joy, will surprise me, offering a glimpse of grace, until the griefy road I am on makes itself known once more. My road alone to travel, with a few extra bumps along the way, especially in December.

For those striving to understand how grief works, including myself, believe me when I say it’s not all-consuming at this point. While the tears do not constantly flow, they are mostly held back just beyond my barrier wall of suckitupbuttercup. A song, a memory, a Christmas tree ornament, an empty house, the vast, vacant side of the bed on these freezing cold nights, “dead” letters (how I refer to Christmas cards and other mail addressed to him), the lack of presents for him under the tree, and dinner for one. All these things and more can rouse the grief monster.

Christmas isn’t the same, nor will it ever be. Same goes for me. Not the same person. To my fellow travelers navigating grief this holiday season, I share a line from the country song, “If We Make It Through December” which rings true, “If we make it through December, we’ll be fine.” We will make it through. Hope abounds. May you find pockets of peace this season and experience God’s love in unexpected and glorious ways.

Stressed, blessed, and all the rest. Two nights in a row of ice road driving. I made it home safely, albeit with white knuckles and frazzled nerves.

I got teary during worship again this week. Dennis came to St. Luke’s for Wednesday nights and trumpet days. I sat in our usual front row spot tonight. The empty seat next to me felt like an abyss.

Blessings included time and meals with dear ones, celebratory birthday cake for 6 birthdays within a month at council last night, unexpected gifts, hugs after church tears, and a lovely arrangement for my porch from some special folks. I’m sure I am missing some. Love you all.

I arrived home after the icy drive to a late birthday gift from Ryan with exactly the sentiment I needed.

I don’t recall exactly when I got this mug, but I do recall having a good laugh over it. This time of year can be extra peopley. As someone who appreciates her downtime to recharge, this mug is a pefect fit for sipping some hot cocoa or tea while decompressing with a Hallmark movie.

Yesterday evening, I spied the mug in the cabinet. As I took it out for a cuppa, I began to cry when I read its message. I almost made it through this “first” Thanksgiving weekend sans waterworks. Why the tears over a mug?

I’ve got silent nights in droves.

Grief experts encourage making plans: for the holidays, the anniversaries, the days you anticipate will be difficult, etc. Great advice. I’ve made plans. I have places to go and folks I can call. I do things with my people. Dare I say, sometimes I even have a little bit of levity and laughter. It even feels ‘normal’ to some degree.

But then I come home to my silent situation. No human to greet. No one asking about my day. No trumpet music. No laughter. No television blaring. No one asking me for something from the fridge. No one to listen to my latest rant. No one to watch a program with. The nights are extraordinarily silent.

Thankfully, I can embrace the solitude, but that doesn’t make it easy. My new reality is emerging as layers of grief are peeled back. I am becoming. Soli Deo Gloria.

Well, I ditched my planned “moment of thanks” tonight and spoke from my heart. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit showed up. I confessed that I’ve been dreading Thanksgiving, especially the whole “everyone share what you’re thankful for” when this year feels like the hardest ever.

Of course, we always have something to be thankful for because God just keeps on giving despite our wavering faith and levels of gratitude. As it turns out, we humans can be griefy and grateful at the same time. I am immensely grateful for all the ways God has shown up this year through my family and the other folks walking alongside me. God provided what I needed exactly when I needed it. God’s grace is truly sufficient.

If you’re struggling this year as I have been, you are not alone. You are loved. God’s got us and will make a way. Always.

Blessings, friends.

November 25. One month until Christmas. Grief tsunami warning issued.

C’mon, you’ve got this. Do you though? Really?

Yeah, you love Advent! Hope, waiting, expectation, and all that jazz.

Not feeling great about it. Feeling griefy at the moment.

Well, yeah. Of course you are, silly. You’ve made many plans. You’ve got tons of love and support. You need to keep showing up.

Okay, but what version do you want to show up? The one doing her best to get through these firsts? The one questioning why God created her, of all people, to be brave? The one who is not going to pretend to be okay when she’s not okay? That’s exactly who is gonna show up. That’s who you get. It might be messy. The sermons might be subpar. There may be tears at times. There may be a few laughs, too.

Joy will break through, because that’s what joy does. Joy and pain can coexist.

So that’s why Joy to the World is an Advent hymn. May God’s love break through all hearts astir this season and always.

I just finished Alan Wolfelt’s book “Understanding Your Grief: Ten Essential Touchstones for Finding Hope and Healing Your Heart,” and found this excerpt to be spot on:

“You can take all the people in your life and divide them into thirds when it comes to grief support…. One third of the people in your life will turn out to be truly empathetic helpers. They will have a desire to understand you and your unique thoughts and feelings about the death. They will demonstrate a willingness to be taught by you and a recognition that you are the expert of your experience, not them. They will be willing to be involved in your pain and suffering without feeling the need to take it away from you. They will believe in your capacity to heal….. Another third of the people in your life will turn out to be neutral in response to your grief. They will neither help nor hinder you in your journey. And the final third of people in your life will turn out to be harmful to you in your efforts to mourn and heal. While they are usually not setting out intentionally to harm you, they will judge you, they will try to take your grief away from you, and they will pull you off the path to healing.”

I’ve experienced all of these responses this year, maybe not in thirds, because I have many friends in caring professions who ooze empathy. How blessed am I?! When you are in the thick of it, your people will reveal themselves. You will know who you can rely on, and it may just surprise you. Remember, grief makes folks feel uncomfortable, so responses to your grief will vary. I’ll say this 1,000 times over: It’s not you! Be true to yourself and your grief journey. It’s your path to own and to walk. However long it takes. We can do this.

Thank you to everyone walking alongside me. Love and appreciate you all.

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.