All that love could do was done

I received a card in the mail yesterday from a nurse case worker who worked for Steve's insurance company. I only knew her through phone conversations, but we did have several long talks. She was so kind, and I enjoyed those conversations. I remember talking with her shortly after Steve died, and she was so sorry to hear about it. It was especially meaningful to me that over three months later, she is still thinking of me and sent this card. The timing couldn't have been more perfect! I had an awfully lonely weekend, and the card came on Saturday. Here is the verse from the card. "Why? That's what we ask. The truth is, we may never be able to know for sure why. But we do know that there is no single 'should have done' or 'could have done' or 'did' or 'didn't do' that would have changed that why. All that love could do was done." I am easily tempted to go down that road of "should have" or "could have" but I try not to. I know better, but it is still tempting. This card really was perfect! "All that love could do was done."

Fabric of My Soul

I was able to get some beautiful flowers for Steve's grave. His mom and I worked together on this project. We got a shepherd's hook and then a hanging black iron basket with that brown mesh stuff. I found a really pretty garland of mixed sizes and colors of flowers and arranged it in the basket. I used straight pins and a hot glue gun to anchor the flowers. I put it all out there today. There won't be a stone placed there until the ground finishes settling. For now, there is a wooden cross with a few flowers in front of it and the shepherd's hook with the basket. It looks really pretty. Tomorrow I should be able to put out some grass seed and plant a hearty version of a rose bush. I got permission from the cemetery person, and as long as I plant it by the fence (at the foot of the grave), it is ok. I have been thinking lately about this pain inside of me. It's not that it is unbearable or that it makes me cry a lot anymore. It is just always there. I was thinking of how to describe it, and I thought of this analogy. I thought of people being like a piece of fabric. Pieces of fabric can be joined together in a variety of ways...buttons, zippers, snaps, velcro, maybe even a seam sewing the two pieces together. Depending on how the pieces are attached, taking them apart would cause various levels of pain. For me and Steve, I feel like we were "attached" at a level beyond all that. It was as if the very threads of the fabric of my soul were woven together with the threads of the fabric of his soul. We became one piece. Now, this pain I feel is because he has been ripped away from me. There is a jagged tear, not a smooth edge, and it hurts. I know that God will heal the frayed edge, but I also realize it takes time. Still, I would rather have been woven together with Steve, and have to experience this pain as a consequence, than to not have had the experience at all.

Someday

A man I know passed away this week. He was 104 years old. People who knew him talked about how joyful he had to be to finally make it to heaven and see his Lord and his beloved Dorothy. Dorothy, his wife, had passed away many, many years ago. Someone said that the two of them were probably sipping coffee and eating chocolate cake about now. I was discussing this man's passing with Steve's mom today. We talked about how rare it is for people to find that kind of love, the true soul mate. I know I found mine in Steve, and I believe she realizes that too. In the course of that conversation, she said something that just meant so much to me. She said she thought that when it comes my turn to go, it wouldn't surprise her at all to find out that Steve is the one there to take my hand and lead me in. What an absolutely beautiful picture. I've been missing him so much lately, and thoughts like that really comfort me. That day is coming, and I look forward to it so much, but in the meantime, I will keep moving forward here and pouring myself into the lives of those around me. Someday, Steve....someday.

Wal Mart Hugs and Cell Phones

This has been a sad week--not overwhelmingly sad, but sadness that comes and goes and just seems to hang around in the background. I tell myself that is normal. Today I had to go to Wal Mart to finish up the grocery shopping. I was so near tears as I walked through the store. I felt so extremely alone. As I turned the corner in the cracker aisle, I saw Steve's aunt. She stopped and hugged me and asked how I was. She is one of those people who asks that and wants the truth, not just a "Fine, how are you?" answer. I told her I was struggling, and she stood there with me and talked, encouraged, and hugged some more. It was so encouraging. I know God sends people like that just when I need it. He wanted to give me a hug today, and he used Aunt Mary's arms. Then, later today, I called the cell phone company to cancel Steve's phone from my account. I haven't been able to find his phone, and I thought someone had taken it and was using it. The man checked and said that the phone hasn't been used. That leads me to believe that I have it around here somewhere, I just can't find it. He was going to cancel the phone, but I started crying and asked him if that meant the voicemail would also be gone. Of course, canceling the phone removes the voicemail. I told him that I sometimes call Steve's number just to hear him say his name. It's not even a whole message. The fake lady says, "You have reached the Sprint PCS mailbox of..." and then I hear Steve's voice say, "Steve." That's all...just one word, but it's his voice. I couldn't do it. I couldn't cancel the accout. The poor phone guy said it was ok and that I could leave it active for as long as I wanted. I'm glad no one is using it. Maybe I'll eventually find the phone. Regardless, I can still call and hear that precious voice say, "Steve." You know, one thing I have learned--love people while you still have them. I wish I could communicate just how important that is. So much of what we complain about just isn't important. Loving people, valuing them, encouraging them, that's what's important.

How to Love a Woman

Today was Mother's Day, and instead of the traditional message about moms, my pastor preached more to men and how they are to love their wives. At first I was kind of dreading sitting through something like that because it just doesn't apply to me right now and I didn't really want to hear about husbands and wives after losing Steve. However, it ended up being comforting in a way I never would have dreamed. Each time the pastor made a new point, I could say to myself, "That's how Steve loved me" or "Steve was like that." Of course, Steve wasn't perfect, but I was able to hear it verbalized about how great of an experience it was to be loved by him. The pastor mentioned the verse about being quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to get angry. That completely describes Steve. He talked about the importance of communication, and it made me remember just how many times Steve and I would just sit and talk, about anything really. I can remember Steve saying how much he missed that until he met me, about how good it felt to just talk to someone and have them be interested and talk back. The pastor talked about providing and protecting, and those also made me think of Steve. At about the middle of the sermon, the pastor said something that stood out so much to me and grabbed my heart. He said to the men something like, "What if God put you in her life to make a difference? What if He knew she could be a better mom with you loving her? What if He knew she could be a stronger person with you encouraging her?" That completely blew me away. I have no doubt that God used Steve in my life for that very reason. I know I am much better, healthier, and stronger since I have been loved by Steve. It is amazing to me, not just that Steve loved me, but that God loves me so much that He wanted me to have that experience. He wanted me to be loved by someone like Steve. He knew what that could do for me. Yes, I am still sad; yes, I still miss Steve so much, but at the same time, I am so very thankful for the experience. I am blessed.

Balloons

My last grief class was this week. At the end of this final session, they gave each of us a helium balloon and a permanent marker. We each wrote a message to our loved one on the balloon, then we went outside, stood in a circle, held hands, and prayed. Then we all released our balloons. It was so beautiful! We stood and watched as they rose higher and higher and finally became just tiny specks against the clouds. It was quite an experience! I realized that it is the first time since Steve passed that I have let anything go that had to do with him. I have literally kept everything, no matter how ridiculous, and refuse to throw anything away that had anything at all to do with him. Here's an example: I have one of those small unbrellas that used to be Steve's. We never used it together, there is no little memory or anything at all to go with it, but at the same time, I know it belonged to Steve. I used it the other day, and the little black tip on the end that says "Totes" fell off. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. I still have it. That's just a little black piece of trash, but I can't do it, not yet. I have to keep it. When we did the balloons, I noticed that I had an almost panic-type feeling at the thought of letting that balloon go. I wanted to take it home and keep it. I stayed with the group, though, and did let it go. I'm so glad I did, and it felt good. I still am not ready to throw anything away, but I'm ok with that. I see no reason for rushing through this process. After all, it's only been 11 weeks and 3 days.

Pass It On

I think I have mentioned that I have been going to a Griefshare group. It has been really good for me. This last week, they talked about how going through a grief experience automatically qualifies you to help other grieving people. I can completely understand what they mean. I think of myself the way I was before Steve died, and I realize that I would been uncomfortable at best around someone who had lost someone. I wouldn't have known what to say and I would have felt awkward. Now, it is so different. I have an immediate draw to that person, and I immediately empathize with him or her. In the grief group, they talked about how I will grow in my ability to comfort others. Early on, it may not be much more than giving a heartfelt hug, but it will grow. Then, today, I was at work (I work at an insurance office) and a girl came in whose husband had just passed away. She was young. I got up, went around the desk and gave her a hug and told her how sorry I was. I listened as she told me her situation and was able to share that I had recently experienced something similar. I could tell that it made her feel good to have someone hug her and be able to kind of understand (although, I'm not sure anyone can ever truly understand--every situation is unique). It also felt so good to me to be able to react to her in that way rather than feeling awkward. There's a verse in the Bible that says that God comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we have received from God. What a beautiful picture. Rather than being a container of the comfort I receive from God, I am a conduit--it flows to me, then through me to someone else. The neat thing is, it never runs out...God just keeps pouring and pouring.

Star Date with Steve

I don't really expect anyone to believe this, but this is exactly what happened this evening. I was mowing grass and thinking about Steve, when I sensed him saying to me, "Meet me outside tonight to look at the stars." (In case I haven't mentioned this before, Steve was an amateur astronomer and viewing stars was a passion of his.) I responded, "Ok, it's a date." That was probably around 8:00. By the time the kids were in bed, my studies were done, and I was ready for bed, it was around 10:30. I got my binoculars (gift from Steve for stargazing), and checked out my computer software that tells me exactly what stars are out and where they are so that I would know what to look for. By the time I actually went outside it was around 11:00. I looked around for awhile, thinking of Steve of course, and wondering what I was supposed to be seeing or if I was just supposed to be there. I put the binoculars down and looked up and around. Just as I turned to the west, I saw a huge falling star (meteor, as Steve would say!). It was the most amazing, beutiful thing I have seen in a long time! That is what Steve wanted me to see and share with him. I immediately burst into tears, but they were good tears. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.

Hugs

When I went to bed last night, I thought through the day and realized that I had received eight big hugs--not the small little casual hugs, but eight big, tight, hugging-you-and-I-mean-it kind of hugs. I also thought about just how good that felt. The hugs were from various people and for various reasons, but in each hug was the communication that that person really cared about me and wanted me to know it. At least for me, those hugs conveyed powerful communication that can't really be expressed in words. I felt so good!

Sharing Music

Steve was amazingly talented. One of his passions was music. He could play any intrument he picked up, but his preference was guitar. He was amazing, I am told. Because he had had a stroke four years ago (before I met him), he had lost his ability to make music. It was heartbreaking for him. When I met him, I knew he used to play, but it was something he was never able to share with me. He had a lot of recording equipment and had recorded his own music. He had several 4-track tapes that he told me he would let me hear "one day." "One day" never came. We just never got around to getting out all that equipment. After his death, I gave those tapes to his cousin who knows all about all that equipment. Just today, he finished two of the songs, and I was able to hear Steve sing and play for the first time. It was an amazing experience. These were songs that Steve wrote. He played all the music and recorded all the vocals. Every sound that is heard is Steve. As I listened, I realized that in a way, he had written those songs for me across time. I truly felt Steve was there with me, as I listened, and that he was so glad to be able to share those songs with me. Hearing his voice like that was an amazing experience. I can't wait to see him again.

Riding the Wave

Today feels like I came out the other side of a wave of sadness. I've heard grief described as waves, and it really does seem like that. This experience very much reminds me of the waves of the ocean. The grief tends to ebb and flow in much the same way. Some waves are stronger than others. Although there is always an empty place in my heart, there are times when the ocean is calm and other times when the wave has me feeling like my feet have been washed out from under me and I just barely hang on as I ride the intense wave of sadness and pain. I have just experienced one of the stronger waves this past week...eight days to be exact...and finally, today, the wave subsided. I feel calm and at peace.

Backwards

For all the forward movement I felt I had taken, today it seems I have gone nowhere but backwards. It is almost as if I am starting over with this pain. How can that be??? Maybe I have had too much time today to think about it... maybe I'm just simply exhausted...maybe tomorrow will be better. Instead of staying up and missing him more and dwelling on it more, I'm going to take a Tylenol PM and try to get a good night's sleep. I hope tomorrow brings new hope with the new day.....

Conversation with my son

This post may sound strange, and if I weren't going through this pain of grief, I might be thinking that there is just something wrong with this conversation if I heard it from someone else. However, in this stage of my life and with what my kids and I have just lost, it was so comforting to me. For background, I took my kids for their first visit to the cemetery the other day. It was a beautiful day, and they were ready (mentally) to go. We had a great time, just the three of us. I showed them Steve's grave and they watched me put flowers there. Then we wandered through the old section. It is a very small, out-of-the-way, old cemetery. It is absolutely beautiful and peaceful. Anyway, my kids really liked walking around, and they each found a grave of someone they were curious about. For my son it was a Civil War soldier. So...a few days later, I was driving with my son and we passed a cemetery. After a few moments of thought, he said, "Mom, when you die, you want to be buried in the cemetery where Steve is, don't you? And you want to be buried by Steve?" I answered, "Yes, I do...right next to Steve." Then he said, "Don't worry Mom. I'll make sure that happens." (He's only 11, by the way.) Then he said, "Mom, when I die, I want to be buried next to the Civil War guy." I said, "Ok. I'll remember that for you. You can remember for me and I can remember for you." Then the conversation was over. It was one of the most beautiful conversations I can remember having with him. I'll treasure it forever.

Beautiful Day

Not only was today beautiful, but so was Easter. I had dreaded it, but it turned out to be a great day. I did fine through the church service...only a few tears...spent the main part of the day with my family and then went to Steve's sister's house. I went late, but I still went, and that was a big step. Steve has a brother with Downs Syndrome, and he and Steve were extremely close. When I got there Easter evening, he rushed to me and gave me a huge hug! It was wonderful! He and his parents left shortly after I got there, but I did get to see everyone a little. After everyone left, Steve's sister and I sat and talked for about an hour. It was a great talk--a lot about Steve, wondering why, wishing we had had more time, etc. etc., probably the same thing everyone goes through after losing someone unexpectedly. Today also was a beautiful day. It was seven weeks ago today that he died. I went to the cemetery today and took flowers and made it as pretty as is possible when it is still fresh dirt. It is such a quiet, peaceful place, and I love to go there. It was hard at first, but I'm getting ok with it. I have a routine--I sit on a blanket in the same spot each time and write in my journal. It is good. Quote I received today from a friend: There may always be a place within you that's empty, a wound that never heals. Value it. It's God's way of sustaining your connection to the man who was so significant in your life. I love that!

Easter Morning

It is a beautiful morning where I live. I'm so glad it is Easter...I love Easter and realizing all Jesus did for me. It is a bittersweet morning, though. I would have been going to a beautiful Easter service with Steve today. Then we probably would have gone to my parents' house for a dinner and egg hunt. Later we would have gone to his sister's house for a big family get together. I am thinking of going to his sister's later today anyway. They have invited me. Steve's family has actually been so supportive...they have embraced me and they treat me as if we had actually gotten far enough along that we did marry. His sister gave me a necklace just before the funeral service, and on the box she wrote, "To my sister by soul" (since we couldn't be sisters-in-law. I thought that was beautiful. If I go to her house today, it will be the first time to go to a family get-together without Steve. I don't know if I can do that without crying. I want to go, and I will try to go. I don't want to put a damper on their gathering by crying, but on the other hand, I imagine the day will be tough for them anyway. It will also be their first gathering since he passed. This will be one of the "firsts" I have to do eventually. The first time to do anything is so hard, but after that it gets easier. The first time I went to the cemetery was horrible, but since then it has become a good place to just sit, think, and journal. There have been many "firsts" and I have survived. I suppose I will survie this as well........I never thought I'd be a "blogger," but I am really enjoying this outlet! I just send it out to cyberspace and let it go! It feels good.

This is Me

Welcome to my blog :) My name is Jodi, and I am 41. My current household includes two children and several pets. The last two years of my life have been filled with a unique combination of much joy and intense sorrow. It would take too much time to go into the details, but I plan to use this blog as an outlet, so to speak. I know that I need to move forward, hence the title of my blog. My most recent source of incredible pain is that six weeks ago, the man I dreamed of marrying (and who dreamed of someday marrying me) died suddenly of cardiac arrest....while I was with him. The pain is still very raw, so I do a lot of crying, but I know that I have to go on. I have good days and bad...today was actually a good day, but two days ago (Tuesday) was one of my worst days ever and I have no idea why. I suppose that is normal. Grief is new to me, so I am learning as I go. To be honest, my blog won't be the most "fun" to follow, so feel free to drop out. I won't mind at all. I am looking forward to being able to express openly my feelings to people who don't know me and most likely never will. In a strange way, that feels safe. For now, that is all.