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.