From Riches to Rags, and the Glory I Found There

  Here I sit, all alone in my darkened house, having lived through my 34th birthday.  I did it, I turned the age that John was never able to turn...and I survived the grief that accompanies that deep knowledge...what an incredible privilege. I have always loved that my birthday was surrounded by Thanksgiving. It's a privilege to have my life so connected to the act of giving thanks. To the gathering of family and friends. To the pick-up football games. To all the Thanksgiving traditions.  I never knew what journeys God would bring about in my life in regards to thankfulness. I was given so many wondrous years of joy and hope and life...before sorrow and grief and suffering took such a strong hold. I have often felt like Job, with suffering upon suffering lavished upon my life. And I have sat in the ashes and grieved the deepest of losses...more than once. And I have been asked to still love...called upon to dig deeper...ushered to give just a little more...time and time again. I

It is incredible when you look back at the days that have shaped your life. Marriages, births, and deaths have shaped so many lives in more ways than one. But life is also shaped in the mundane days. The days that you don't even remember...but the days that you lived. Today I am 33 years, 11 months, and 19 days old... Tomorrow I will have lived more days than my husband did... John was 33 years, 11 months, and 19 days old when he died.  It seems like such a long period of time. So many days and so many years that added up into such a wonderful life. One that I got to be a part of for 12 years, 11 months, and 9 days as his wife. John died 11 days before his 34th birthday and 22 days before our 13th wedding anniversary. Sometimes it feels extra cruel that we were so close to those special days but we just missed them. But, even if we had had those extra days, I would have wanted just a few more...any more. I always told John that I had to be the one to die first, because I never want

I wasn't prepared for the death of my son...but I was far less prepared for the death of my husband. And, to be honest, I fell apart.  I was lost and lonely and so very broken. I couldn't hold myself  together and I allowed every broken part of myself to fall away. I gave myself permission to be broken, to be lost, to sit in the ashes, and to just grieve the greatest loss of my life.  But I only allowed myself a certain amount of time. I didn't want to wallow. I didn't want drown in my grief. I didn't want to be that broken for longer than absolutely necessary.  I fell apart...and then I told myself that I couldn't be apart any longer.  So I made very intentional efforts to heal and to process and to grieve productively. Is that even a real thing? I don't know, but convinced myself that it was, and I proceeded as such.  I'm not gonna say that those things didn't help. Because they did...so very much. I'm a firm believer that we develop the cultur