This past week has been an amazing jump start to my plan for being healthier and more fit. I have stuck with my goals and the scale showed all my hard work paid off. The scariest part of my goal has been keeping up with five and a half miles per day. That’s a lot of steps for my little legs and I don’t know if I’ve ever been so intentional about getting exercise in. And I certainly haven’t done it consistently seven days a week. But so far, I’ve pushed myself to do it every day, and have been successful.
As you may have noticed, there are more blog posts happening lately also. Walking and running on my treadmill is my quiet time, my time with Father. The first part of my walk is typically just empty thought. Plans for the day. Things I need to get done. How long does this walk last? But there is always a moment in the middle, a moment where I am physically exhausted and mentally tired. A moment that comes when I am broken and wrecked and emotional and then I am given what He and I are working on. We get to the core of my emotion and my angst and figure out the purpose of the run. Sure, sometimes it’s just purely physical exercise. Working out. But much of the time there’s an emotional something, a spiritual something, that I am led to work through. For the last two days, the theme has been the same. And as much as I want to avoid it, as much as I’d like it to just be buried, He’s telling me I can’t. The title for the post was given. Hard, ugly-cry-inducing visions were brought to the surface. Sobbing on the treadmill trying to breathe through a 5K and tears led me to this.
I try hard to be honest in my posts. To show you the good with the bad. To highlight that you can still have joy when walking through pain and heartache. I try to balance out the amazing excitement for life with the valleys that we sometimes have to walk through. And for the last couple days, a valley. So, tonight, a blog post that is a valley.
Grief is a weird thing. It has been over seven years since Brian died. Seven up and down years of so many emotions. And just when you think everything you feel is over and done, wrapped up with a neat little bow, you’re thrown into the throes of grief all over again.
I miss my husband. So very much. And I seethe with anger when that happens. He did very awful things. He hurt so many people. And while I speak often of the blessings of him making the choices that he made at the end of his life, it doesn’t make the grief any easier. In fact, it complicates things. Rather than sitting around with friends and family, speaking of the wonderful person my husband was, we don’t speak of him. Speaking of him generates emotions for many people. When I mention that I miss him, depending on who I’m talking to, there’s emotion from that person as well. People love us. People want to protect us. They want me to see the good in what has happened. And again, I do! I know that things had to happen the way they did in order for us to be where we are today. But I also would like to be able to maybe have a moment where I feel like I can freely be sad for the man that I loved. That I can miss him and tell people how badly it hurts that he’s not here. To share with people moments in my life that are hard, like Christmas Eve or daily things with the girls. Sometimes I take a risk and do. Timidly share things I hold in my heart. But not often. Because people don’t understand.
People don’t understand just grief unless they’ve experienced it themselves. Many people would read that it’s been seven years and wonder why I’m still bemoaning my loss. Get over it! Be done! Move on! Then add on that my husband ended his time on earth as a monster. They really don’t understand why I’m grieving him then. They say things like, “Oh, you’re just grieving the life you dreamed of.” Or “You just miss being married.” And oftentimes, I convince myself that that is true. It’s hard for me to admit here, or anywhere, that I miss him. I miss Brian.
And there is guilt and shame still attached to everything that happened. Guilt that I didn’t notice my husband slowly sinking into his own version of insanity. Guilt that I didn’t protect people that needed protecting. Guilt that I cut Brian completely off from my little family. Guilt that I didn’t show compassion and forgiveness and help him. I know that he was too far gone by the time I noticed that anything was wrong. I know that I probably couldn’t change his mind at the end. But I would give anything to pause for one second, notice what was happening and say the words, “Please don’t go...” Guilt that his choices plus my choices led him to think that suicide was his only option. Guilt that my vows were “in sickness and in health” and I didn’t keep up my end. My husband was sick. I didn’t know. But I also didn’t keep up my end of the bargain.
And then the part where I’m on the treadmill and broken. And God scoops me up and whispers into my ear “You. Are. Forgiven.” He tells me that it’s not my fault. He tells me how much He loves me. He tells me how sorry He is that my girls and I have had to go through this. How sorry He is that the people that I love have had to go through this. He takes my shattered heart and tenderly bandages the pieces back together. Psalm 147:3 says “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” He fixes the wounds in my heart, a little at a time. He allows me to be angry and sad. He absolves me of my guilt and my shame. He shows me my broken heart and the patches that are holding it together. And I am able to move forward on my journey and little further along.
I miss my husband. I wish with all my heart that he was here, healed and whole and normal. I wish that my girls could know a dad that loves them and cares for them. And then gratefulness that they have their Heavenly Father to bolster them and to bind their wounds too.
I keep replaying the wish where Brian calls my cell phone and shares his sickness with me. Where I share with him Psalm 147:3 and assure him that Father God can heal him and fix him. Where I beg him, “Please don’t go...” That part gets me to the grief where I feel like I can actually cry for him. Where I can be sad and hurt and maybe even lay my head in someone’s lap and cry until I don’t think I could cry anymore.
But, I won’t do that. For Brian is healed. He is no longer sick. Father God has healed his broken heart and bound up his wounds. I will rejoice for him! And I will also be thankful for the journey that Father God has placed the girls and me on. And I know that with each step of this journey that I take, Father will continue to heal my broken heart and bind up my wounds.
I encourage you to hug your spouses and your children and all of your other loved ones tightly when you have the chance. Life changes in the blink of an eye. But if it does, and you find yourself in grief, turn to our Father in Heaven. And know that He has a plan. He uses it all for good, no matter the circumstances. And I firmly know that Brian had to go...
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