Forgive me if this blog has become burdensome to read. I’ll let you in on a little secret—it has become burdensome to write as well. Yet, I plug on like some driven, wild woman compelled to spill the leaking ooze of her broken heart over whoever stops by. My flimsy and possibly misguided, but well intentioned, hope is that by exposing my open wound I can some how piece together enough of the right words to be of use to others. C.S. Lewis felt that his journal entries written after the death of his wife “might well be of some help to others who were similarly afflicted with the turmoil of thought and feeling which grief forces upon us.” While my writing skill is far below the esteemed author, I do honestly pray my ramblings will find their way to anyone who could benefit from them.
Mr. Lewis hit the nail on the head. Grief can sometimes be a bully who pokes and pushes its way into every thought and emotion I have in a day. It’s grueling trying to keep up and soothe the gash torn in my psyche from such a brute. Just today, I was going along fine. Got up. Got dressed. Made myself some breakfast. Did some office work. Made some phone calls. Things were clicking along pretty good, when all of a sudden I felt Gary’s absence with the force of a two-by-four up side my head. I stumbled to a chair and wept for several minutes. After that, I didn’t get much done. It’s just how it is.
Later in the afternoon I stepped out on our screened in porch. Snow is still piled on the ground, yet I smelled spring, or at least the promise of spring. Immediately, I felt Gary’s presence. He loved spring. Spring meant melting snow. Snow melting meant grass growing. Grass growing meant John Deere! The yellow tractor seat of his John Deere was one of Gary’s happy places. And, just for a brief moment, I felt a sprout of joy.
Hot. Cold. Left. Right. Forward. Backward. Repeat. Grief inches me closer to hell or healing depending on the day, or more accurately the hour.
I have to trust that God knows this; that grief, as prickly as it is, serves a purpose, a means to and end. Even in my discomfort and sorrow, I know, I know that He is there and He is able.
“I remember the days of old. I meditate on all that You have done; I ponder the work of Your hands. I stretch out my hands to you; my soul thirsts for You like a parched land…” ~ Psalm 143:5-6