can we just skip August 29th? 242/366
"Can we just skip tomorrow?" That was my thought last night immediately after writing and sharing my post. I just plain did not want to face the memories and the flashbacks and probable tears that would accompany today. As a matter of fact, I felt so strongly about it that I went ahead and made it the title for today's post before I closed out of blogger last night. I also thought of course we can't. I almost erased it because I thought, optimistically, "there would be things I would miss, good things, if it was skipped."
Six years ago, by this time of the evening, I had made the most difficult phone calls I've ever made to my children, my mother in-law and other extended family. Bill had taken his last breaths while I was in a chair by his hospital bed playing a game on my phone. He had been resting, we were waiting on a GI specialist. It was Labor Day weekend. He wanted to go home. Turns out he did, just not where he'd been talking about.
So what did today, the sixth "anniversary" of his death look like for me?
Well, I woke up while it was still dark from a nightmare about Bill, heart pounding, fighting mad, tears flowing and scared because it seemed so real and I was confused. It took a few minutes to wake up fully enough to know it had been a dream. A friend texted while I was waking to tell me she was praying and that God had nudged her to ask if there was anything specific. Cue more tears, because God knew I needed a prayer warrior coming alongside me to pray for peace of mind and heart.
I had a choice to make. I could dwell on the nightmare which made the title of this post seem all too relevant, and stay in bed or I could get up, knowing that storms are part of grieving, but so are rainbows. I chose to get up.
This is what my day looked like:
Breakfast,
time with Jesus praying and reading in Colossians
making yogurt
9am soccer practice that was an intersquad scrimmage, with clouds on either side reminding me I had the privilege of choosing what I focused on as the day progressed.
putting gas in the car
going to the post office so my mother's birthday card will arrive on time
texts and messages of love and prayer and support throughout the day
refusing to dwell on what time it was and what was going on six years ago
going to the Mission Thrift Store to volunteer, organizing and shelving books
finding a whole bird egg when I was cleaning dog poop out of the yard
being sad the bird won't hatch
amazed at the beauty of the egg
Mowing the lawn, weedeating,
cleaning the sidewalk and porch with the leaf blower so I'd be busy during the time I sat in the hall six years ago waiting as doctors worked on Bill.
making taco meat, and covering chips with said meat, cheddar cheese and fresh tomato for supper
accepting the gray clouds for what they were,
even seeing and appreciating the beauty in them,
but rejoicing in the white ones, sunshine and blue sky as they appeared
Six years ago, by this time of the evening, I had made the most difficult phone calls I've ever made to my children, my mother in-law and other extended family. Bill had taken his last breaths while I was in a chair by his hospital bed playing a game on my phone. He had been resting, we were waiting on a GI specialist. It was Labor Day weekend. He wanted to go home. Turns out he did, just not where he'd been talking about.
So what did today, the sixth "anniversary" of his death look like for me?
Well, I woke up while it was still dark from a nightmare about Bill, heart pounding, fighting mad, tears flowing and scared because it seemed so real and I was confused. It took a few minutes to wake up fully enough to know it had been a dream. A friend texted while I was waking to tell me she was praying and that God had nudged her to ask if there was anything specific. Cue more tears, because God knew I needed a prayer warrior coming alongside me to pray for peace of mind and heart.
I had a choice to make. I could dwell on the nightmare which made the title of this post seem all too relevant, and stay in bed or I could get up, knowing that storms are part of grieving, but so are rainbows. I chose to get up.
This is what my day looked like:
Breakfast, time with Jesus praying and reading in Colossians
making yogurt
9am soccer practice that was an intersquad scrimmage, with clouds on either side reminding me I had the privilege of choosing what I focused on as the day progressed.
Buying birthday cards for the rest of the year and when I got home realizing I forgot to eat my nectarine after practice and I forgot to buy more 81mg aspirin. Oops.
putting gas in the car
cleaning the church
meatloaf, fresh pineapple and sweet potato with extra brown sugar for lunch
going to the post office so my mother's birthday card will arrive on time
texts and messages of love and prayer and support throughout the day
refusing to dwell on what time it was and what was going on six years ago
going to the Mission Thrift Store to volunteer, organizing and shelving books
Moose Tracks as an afternoon snack, and trust me, I took from the right side
finding a whole bird egg when I was cleaning dog poop out of the yard
being sad the bird won't hatch
amazed at the beauty of the egg
cleaning the sidewalk and porch with the leaf blower so I'd be busy during the time I sat in the hall six years ago waiting as doctors worked on Bill.
making taco meat, and covering chips with said meat, cheddar cheese and fresh tomato for supper
sitting on the porch swing to write this post
accepting the gray clouds for what they were,
even seeing and appreciating the beauty in them,
but rejoicing in the white ones, sunshine and blue sky as they appeared
today has looked like accepting death as part of life
and choosing to focus on what living requires/means/is now
rather than on what death ended
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