THE LULU CHRONICLES
After my husband died, I wrote down everything I felt, with
the occasional input from my pink bike, LuLu. Pedaling alone through the
countryside helped prep my heart and soul for the lessons they each needed to
learn. For one year and six months I put it all out there—every ugly word,
every sorrowful moan, every fear, every brief glimmer of hope, every faith
struggle, and every poke I received from God. I shared it all. Then one day, I simply
ran out of words.
When Gary first died, I did my best to open myself up to
you, to myself, and to God. I feared that if I didn’t I would shut down
completely. I was afraid that if I didn’t keep forcing myself to process, to
feel, and to share the journey, the journey would be lost on me. I lived in
fear I would miss the point and purpose of what was happening to me and I would
go through all of this horribleness for naught. So, I captured as much of the sorrow, pain, fear, loss,
sadness, and mourning as I could. I let you peek in at my faith journey on the
good days and the bad. I believed then and I still believe that those emotions and
the expressing of them saved me; Owning them, examining them and giving myself
permission to feel them, as ugly, difficult, and heart-wrenching as they were, absolutely
saved me. And, I hope they were somehow beneficial to you as well.
But, these last six months of silence have also been a lifesaver.
I’ve come to realize that the heart is more than a pump. It is the Yoda of the
soul. It carries its own wisdom, has its own timetable, and has a direct
connection to our Master Designer. Eventually the broken heart, if given its
reign, takes us to a place words cannot go. Silence has its own lessons to
teach. So, I stopped writing and decided it was time to be still. I allowed silence
to surround me and coax me into a place where I could utter, groan, and express
myself without the chatter, all within its protection.
Some things cannot be shared, ever. Yet, the experience of
them is vital to the healing. Only God and I know what has happened to me in
these last six months. Only we know what I felt, what I learned, and what I
gleaned from the groaning. Only God and I know what conversations needed to be
had, and they were for our ears only. I had no more hurtful layers to peel. All
pretence was gone and all false bravado exposed. I was alone in the garden
naked, as God walked among the trees.
Am I done? Is it over? Can I tear off my shroud and my
widow’s clothes? Is it time to dance again? My heart isn’t saying. It seems
content to just let me be. For now, that is enough.
