Four Years a Widow

 

4 years a widow...

4 years into this journey and I can say, with some certainty, that it is a whole lot easier than it was 4 years ago...3 years ago...2 years ago...even 1 year ago. So, at the very least, it's trending up, eh?

I haven't sobbed hysterically over my dead husband in ages, years even. The grief is much more sophisticated now, I get choked up, maybe let a tear or two fall out. Nothing quite so dramatic as the panic attacks I used to have. It's all quite tame and reasonable...you know...until its not...and it steals my breathe by sheer surprise. And a part of me forgets that there was ever a time when it felt normal for John to be dead.

Because, 4 years in, it is normal. Normal for John to be dead. Normal to not know how to fix the broken things. Normal to sleep in bed alone. Normal to wish there was just a moment where I didn't have to manage all of these things all by myself. (Because being an independent woman is ridiculously overrated...0/10 - do not recommend.) Being alone is normal.

Being a widow is now just heartbreakingly normal.

It's all normal...and I sometimes hate every second of it.

Now, there is certainly contentment here too, don't get it twisted. But sometimes I just hate the fact that my wonderfully vibrant husband is dead. I choose to be thankful for it too. Thankful that John has fulfilled his life in Jesus Christ and exists in a world absent of sin. Thankful for a death that brought him life.

But I hate it all the same. Those two things can exist at the same time. A paradox of grief and joy that is every story of loss in the Christian's world. Some days my heart rejoices and other days it grieves. And I believe God gives us space for both.

It took 4 years, but I've learned that motorcycles won't always trigger panic attacks.

That other deaths won't always make me want to vomit.

That police officers can talk to me and not destroy my whole world.

4 years later and I've found the things and the people in my life that are so incredibly life-giving. I'm drawn deeper into relationships that sing the gospel to my broken heart. The ones that show up...that laugh and cry with me...the people who help me parent my daughter...who say its perfectly fine to get a third dog (it's happening people...sooner or later...its happening).

...4 years a widow...

...but also 4 years a mom. A mom to a living daughter who got to see what it's like when someone moves mountains to bring you home. Even if...even if, kid...I still choose you...for always.

4 years of discovering how deeply sanctifying motherhood is. Of learning how often I have to empty myself of who I am and ask God to fill in all the gaps. 

4 years of abandoning who I once was to become even more of who God is calling me to be.

4 years of blogging, of church, of sermons, of friends, of anxiety, of sacrifice, of working, of joy, of laughter, of sweat, and of tears.

4 years of sharing my story in the hopes that just a piece of Jesus whispers to the hearts of weary souls just like mine...because I still remember vividly what it felt like to search for something that spoke to my broken heart all those years ago when Kimber died...and again when John died,

4 years a widow...

...but 4 years a love story too...

Of a woman that God loved enough to redeem...to sanctify...to raise up out of the ashes and tell to find joy again.

Because Jesus is still in the business of making life worth living...even in the normalcy of grief.