Some of you ask me what it's like--trying to understand what I must feel. It was a weird week. Friday was a year. I was told I would dread the days leading up to the year, but then survive. So I kind of expected that.
What I didn't expect started Monday. I woke up before my alarm--which isn't normal; I like to sleep! And when I woke up, I stared at the ceiling with an attack of feelings--I felt tired like I'd been up all night, but I hadn't. I felt anxious. My stomach hurt. And I felt scared. Scared that he was going to die. I laid there and stared. My emotions didn't match the physical feelings. I didn't feel sad per say. So what was happening? I talked myself through the fear first--'Lauren, he died a year ago. You know that." Okay... so what's the other stuff? In a moment of clarity, I thought--"This. This is exactly how I felt a year ago." Scared. Anxious. Afraid of what was to come. It was as if the grief wasn't stored in my emotions but was in my physical body. It was incredibly strange and foreign to me. I got myself together and had to get through my Monday. That feeling too was familiar. I couldn't give into how I felt, then or now.
Tuesday I woke up and it was similar. But instead this was a flood of vivid memories of the last several days. I could see him pursing his lips so I couldn't give him pills and my mom's voice telling me it was time to call hospice. I could feel his skin and see his face and the faces of people that day. It was so real, I felt like I was there.
I showed a house that morning to another widow-about a year ahead of me-and she talked about the vivid memories the week before. She was trying to warn me, just a few days late. There isn't a template and I'm not getting much advice on how this is going to play out. Most days I'm grateful because that would probably annoy me. No 2 of us is the same. But! It is a tiny bit comforting when someone makes you seem normal, at least for a moment.
Sometimes the Enemy tells me I'm doing it all wrong. That I should regret and even feel shame for some of those days. And some days I believe him. The first 6 months, all I saw flashing across my mind were things I should have done differently and ways I hurt him. But as I fight through and crazy memories flood, sometimes, in spite of it all, I'm overwhelmed with gratitude and pride in my people. I can see my boys, waiting on call in the middle of the night, for when I might need them to help me lift him or move him. They had incredible care and gentleness. The love and respect oozed out of them, looking straight into the eyes of a man that had always been so strong. I see my girls hugging him and loving on him instead of feeling awkward because his body felt different and we weren't exactly sure what to do.
My kids have continued to fight and serve like that this year. They have made hard, life changing decisions and could use their circumstance as an excuse to just stay put. They serve their friends and strangers. They're wrestling out their faith. And as much as I was overwhelmed with some hard pictures in my head this week, these pictures flash too. It's a strange, contrasting gift.
As I look ahead at year 2--I don't have any strong words. I have and continue to barely be able to look a week out. I suppose that's the best place to be--God being in control and Lauren just not. A friend used the word sustain this week and it's been bouncing around in my head. He sustains me. It means to strengthen or support physically or mentally. I have literally felt that this year. Him holding me up. His support. My pastor called this week to encourage me about God's mighty right hand in my life. I know His mighty hand has sustained me. And while I still sometimes physically shake my head in disbelief that this is how He wrote this story--I trust Him.
My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me. Psalm 63:8
