Five Year Reflection
This coming Monday, January 16, will be the five-year anniversary since my husband died.
In reflecting back, I find myself in a strange place that I can’t completely wrap my head around; the fact that five years have passed since I saw him take his last breath. It’s a vivid memory from when I called 911 and knew something was wrong until I saw the ER doctor in the hallway where the staff was still trying to revive him. At that moment, my life came to an abrupt halt. The detour led me to discover that where I was is not where I stayed.
Today my life has a totally different landscape. I do life as a single person. I am surrounded by other women who have no spouse. I attend a different church. I have a different routine. I check the box “widowed” or “single” when filling out a form. In this way, I’ve adapted to living without my husband.
But here’s where there’s a dichotomy; I still love my husband; I miss his joy-filled laugh, his contagious smile, leaving his “piles” instead of “files” on the table. There’s not a day I wake up and don’t think of him. The pictures I have around the house make me smile now instead of cry.
My grief looks different five years later.
My faith looks different five years later, too.
Those first weeks, months, and the entire first year, I would wake up and get my coffee and open my Bible to the Psalms, looking for the words to describe the pain I was in. Psalm 31 offered a picture of where I was, verse 7, “you have seen my affliction, You know the troubles of my soul.” Verse 10, “indeed, my life is consumed with grief.”
Throughout the laments, I found a way to cry out to God with words and tears, and then find hope that God was with me, sustaining me, carrying me, and holding me. Reading words became a way through and writing words expressing the pain and magnitude of grief I felt became a way of containing my sorrow.
In this journey, God was faithful and is still faithful. I have a deeper connection in my relationship to God. God rescued me out of a well so deep I thought I was going to stay in forever. God tenderly and compassionately offered me a “rope of hope” to pull me up from the well, a little at a time, where light came dimly at first, and then more brightly.
I have a deeper appreciation for my children and relationships. Things I use to worry about take less of my time. I’ve learned that life has limits and I want to invest in people. I am able to walk with others who have experienced loss. This past week I spent time with two other women who have lost their husbands. The invisible wound we carry is like being in the military and going to battle. The bonds that are formed in the trenches of war stay long after the fight.
As my children and I remember my husband, their dad, on the anniversary of his homegoing, we will have dinner at a favorite place we use to go as a family of four. The three of us will tell stories and recall how much Fred loved us. There will be tears. Those tears reflect our deep love for a man who loved us well, stayed faithful to God and his family, and received his reward from his Heavenly Father.
We are truly grateful, yet grieving.