One year ago, we said good bye to Leland. He was the best
man I have ever known; my high school sweetheart, husband, father of my children, best friend and love of my life. He left a void in our family
life that yawns impossibly wide and deep.
It has been a year I could never have possibly imagined. His
loss has shaken me to the core of my being. The sorrow has rolled over my
broken heart in waves so deep I have felt I was drowning at times. The loss of his companionship, the tearing asunder a relationship that
spanned more than two thirds of our lives, has been devastating.
I miss so much about
him. When we walked through parking lots
he would drape his arm over my shoulder,
grin as he steered me closer to the parked cars, and say "Stick with me and
you'll be all right." I remember that each time I cross a parking lot now. I miss going to church together, eating
together, reading a book , camping, hiking to a waterfall or a view and many bike
rides. I miss planning a trip together; his help packing for it or getting
ready for company. I miss standing on the step waving good bye to our company,
then walking back in the house together, his arm over my shoulders and mine
around his waist. I miss him putting Sabbath music on for Friday night and
building a fire. I miss the future we had planned and the trip to Hawaii we
would have gone on this year for our 50th anniversary. In short, I miss everything about him.
When Leland first died, I was immersed in the bewildering
paperwork that had to be done and the planning for the memorial arrangements. I was heartbroken and in a state of shock.
My world had shifted on its axis; the resulting earthquake
had left permanent change in the landscape of my life. Death brings a shocking change of status from being half of a married couple to suddenly
widowed, and technically single. CS
Lewis said it best in a Grief Observed. Losing a partner is akin to the amputation
of a limb. The stump heals and one is said to have "gotten over"
it. But while one has healed, life has
changed forever. Everything must be done
differently to accommodate the loss.
I have learned that in the beginning there are no words to
assuage the stunning shock of deep grief; of having half of one's soul suddenly
amputated without anesthetic . The
sorrow is overwhelming. I have come to
understand that some people, even those who loved Leland and still love me, are
unable to express themselves, but that does not mean they do not care. There were others who wrote sensitive heartfelt notes and letters, most of them men, which surprised and touched me
deeply. There were two other young men who came to a party we had for Grant's
going away to the army, who sat and talked with me about Leland with such
understanding, it warmed my heart.
I have survived the dreaded year of firsts without him, the
birthdays, our 49th anniversary and all the holidays. March 22 is seared into our family's memory
as the anniversary of his death, as well as Phoenix's birthday. He is turning three this year, marking a year
of delightful development missed by his Grandpa.
The best birthday card this year came from Del and Chuck on
Leland's birthday, remembering him, an
assurance they miss him too. Several women friends have come alongside,
we have had lunches together, and heart to heart talks, which have warmed and
comforted me. My church families, both Goldendale
and Riverside, have been wonderful and supportive.
I have learned, contrary to popular opinion, the stages of
grief are not orderly. Grief is messy, emotions
are tangled and there is no neat finish. Time does not take care of anything. Rather,
it takes time to do the work required; to heal and learn to move forward. There
is a difference between moving on and moving forward. Moving on implies leaving someone
behind. Moving forward means stepping
into the new normal, keeping Leland in my heart, treasuring the memories and
honoring him by living the rest of the life I have been granted in the best way
I can. I do not yet know what that life will look like, for it is all new, and
one I would never have chosen. Yet, we are told when we can see the end from
the beginning, we would not choose to have been led any differently than we
were. I have yet to see that perspective,
but believe I will someday.
The most important lesson this past year: God is absolutely faithful and trust-worthy.
Although He answered our prayers for healing with a decided no, He also gave
many evidences of His care and planning for our lives. In the midst of the deepest overwhelming
storms of grief, He has always cast some
sort of a lifeline, in the form of a friend or family member sharing my sorrow
or a calming sense of His presence bringing peace.
How am I? I have been
asked that question many times; in the beginning, especially, it was hard to answer. The truthful answer was awkward so I mostly settled
for "OK, thank you," knowing that most of the time that question is a
ubiquitous greeting and no more. I grew to dread that question, always
struggling with whether to be polite or honest; trying not to crumble into
tears. These days, I am beginning to be able to answer truthfully that I am OK.
Some days, I even smile and say "Fine, thank you," and I am, for God
has gifted me with wonderful blessings of family, friends, and an absolute
sense of His trustworthiness. I am often sad and sometimes still ambushed by
grief, but the storms are a little
further apart, and the waves not quite so deep. When I cannot swim anymore, I
know I can cry out to God and He will send a life line that will be just enough
to get me through.
Before Leland was diagnosed and we began struggling with the
ramifications of his illness, life seemed predictable; we looked forward to
many good years of retirement and growing old together. Those expectations were
rudely shattered and life so altered. I felt adrift, and hardly knew what or how to plan for anything.
Everything I have understood as truth has been called into question these last
4 years, especially this last one. I
have decided to trust God; as mentioned above, He has shown Himself faithful,
even when I do not feel it. I understand
He is still there patiently waiting for me to heal, to come out on the other
side of this terrible storm. I know He has plans for my life and will make them
clear at the right time. Observation of
the times in which we live gives me hope that prophecy is being fulfilled. Jesus
will come soon and end this nightmare reign of sin and sorrow. What a
Day That Will Be!
