A year of living.

[Ernie]

May the joy of the Lord be your strength, Betty!

Inner healing is definitely a process and glad to see you handling this well.

[RZehr]

Betty,
I don't know what to say. But I am sad for you and your family, and that Wayne is gone.

[Betty in Maine]

(Wish I Wasn't) On the Road to Find Out. 3 -

This is a milestone couple of days, between my birthday today and Thanksgiving tomorrow. It's been a quiet, at-home day today, more sad than glad, and I'm soon to visit at Frannie's for supper.
Talking with my counsellor yesterday, she assured me that it gets easier, that it does get better. And she knows that from the sad experience of having lost her own husband to illness 2 years ago.

There's a song I'm linking to in a moment. What I read about it was that the author wrote it about the loss of his grandparents, and in an interview shared this: "...what we've got to do, is we've got to ask God to help us release our ideas of who [we] knew that loved one was, and [we've] got to start focusing on who they are now. They are with Jesus. They are being held by the hands that bear the only scars in Heaven."

I'm doing some heart work around the idea of releasing desires and expectations. They're not bad - they are human. They're just not the best God has for any of us. So, with that thought in mind, a different direction, a twist or turn on today's piece of road. Love and blessings.

Casting Crowns - Scars in Heaven (Official Music Video) - YouTube Music

[QuietlyListening]

Betty, holidays are difficult enough without throwing a birthday in. Thanks for sharing the author's thoughts. Praying for you as you are moving thru this difficult journey without Wayne.

One hymn I love is
Nearer, still nearer, close to thy heart
Draw me, my Savior, so precious thou art
Fold me, O fold me close to thy breast
Shelter me safe in that haven of rest
Shelter me safe in that haven of rest

I remember one time a friend was saying how she pictured the line fold me o fold me close to thy breast- She pictured the Lord holding a large warm towel and folding it to himself. That picture stuck with me and helped me thru some difficult times.

May you know our Lord folding you to himself and holding you close.

[appleman2006]

Happy birthday Betty. We think of you and your family often.

[MaxPC]

A blessed birthday for you full of God's graces, Betty. We continue our prayers for you.

[temporal1]

Dear Betty,

.. and I'm soon to visit at Frannie's for supper.

Reading from Wayne (and you and Frannie) in Wayne’s last months was heart-warming. i was specially touched reading about your decision to sell your loved family home in Maine to move to be near Frannie. i was thankful Wayne both had the strength to do it, and the foresight and will to do it. He passed, too soon for all who loved him, but knowing the move was secure, he had done all humanly possible for you and his family. To have that peace of mind, that, upon passing, which is inevitable, “no regrets” that the message of love is beyond question.

i tried not to miss any of Wayne’s posts on forum. i valued every one. every one conveyed his abiding faith, and his love of family. no matter the topic.

2016:

We usually celebrate Thanksgiving with my brother, it's a tradition we've only missed once or twice in the past 38 years. But we'll miss it again this year as we are going to visit our future in-laws at Singing Creek for Thanksgiving, along with the Michael Harris clan.

i was remembering a Thanksgiving song we used to sing every year in public school. it was a cheerful favorite.
when i found this video, submitted by a couple in Maine, i thought i would add it here - for Thanksgiving.



When i was a young child, my grandmother, maybe unknowingly, prepared me for a reality of life we do not like: loss of loved ones.
As i recall, her words were wistful, and “out of the blue” (to young me). i must have said something about the goodness of being a grandmother (?) i’m not sure. Her words struck me, and were memorable, altho puzzling in the moment.

“The hardest part of living, of growing older, is missing loved ones who have gone ahead.”

Now i’m in her shoes. But i began learning the weight of her words at 10, when my dear grandpa suddenly died.
Then, at 16, at 29, more close deaths. by now, too many to think of at once. Often, death comes suddenly, no time to say goodby.
It’s not our choice, the whens+whys!

But it is a blessing when there is time to say goodby. To have time to care for and share love and encouragement.

Eventually i began to think of each loss as a hole in our hearts. Scar tissue develops around the hole, we learn to live with and around the holes. Because it’s God’s will that we do. It’s God’s will+way, whether we understand or not.

My grandmother was right. The hardest part of living longer is living without the ones who meant so much.
The wounds remain. Scar tissue makes life possible.

i am thankful for you that you are close to Frannie and her young family. priceless. and, that Wayne passed having that peace of mind. so many gifts to treasure.

[Betty in Maine]

Hi Temporal 1,
What you write is all so true. And I love your ending byline that we're all just walking each other home. I think I understand a little more how older folks can get tired of living and loosen their grip on this life.

Thank you for your thoughts about Wayne. I am daily thankful, humbled, guilty (but working on it) for all he did, right down to staying too long at camping when he should have sought medical help, because I think he was holding on to our time together and making memories.

Blessings,
Betty

[Betty in Maine]

On the Road to Find Out. 4 - A Day's Connections

A good friend called the other day to check in and asked me what I was experiencing. I miss Wayne terribly. I can cry at the drop of a hat - a song, a memory of a place, something I find of Wayne's while unpacking boxes. Then my friend asked if I found myself replaying events in my mind. In fact, even now, 2 & 1/2 months after Wayne's death, I find that there's some things that simply replay in my mind, uninvited. There's also things that I still cannot remember. I don't know if that is good or bad, but it's apparently a natural part of grief.

My friend also asked if I was able to find strength in my faith. I shared that I spend a lot of time in the mornings reading, thinking, praying, and crying. From my chair, I look out to the next ridge beyond my window, and I am assured that my help comes from the Lord. And help does come, quietly and enveloping me with peace. I am surrounded by hills and mountains, and love driving through the area; they are a constant reminder reminder to me of God's presence.

I lamented feeling guilty, wondering if I advocated enough for Wayne and struggling over Wayne extending our last camping trip, when he was having symptoms and should have called his oncologist instead of working so hard to "make memories" for us. My friend said "That's what husbands do. We choose to do these things." Grace. Grace upon grace and I am very humbled. Thank you, Wayne. And Lord, please bless all husbands. And bless my friend for just calling and asking and listening.

Anyone who has birthed a child understands the place of "Alright, I'm done with this, let's go home now" in the labor process. After Wayne died, and I stayed with him a while, tidying his room and talking to him, I had such a strong urge to take him home. Alright, we're done with this, let's go home now.

Now, 2 & 1/2 months later, I find emotions and moods are still mercurial. I know this is all a process and there's no detailed road map and itinerary, just the general direction and going at one's own pace. So this is some of what it looks like: I've had to buy sofas, appliances, and arrange installation and repairs in a new home, in an area I don't know. I've had to retain a lawyer, arrange new health care, and more. Things Wayne would have taken care of are left to me to figure out and I'm unequal to the task. Grief counseling. I could hardly speak or sing at church meeting, today, for choking up. I can't deal with crowds and I'm bewildered by folks who no longer stay in touch. The holidays are painful and daunting. I can't make sense of why this all happened, and in such a short time. Every day is a prayer, every hour, every tear. So thankful for emails and calls when they come, that I am not lost to others in my loss. Because some days I am very lost, and I look for and need those connections.

That same day, I received a lovely Advent card from other friends, a doctor and his wife, who I called the night Wayne died. They ministered to me tremendously from across the miles then. The card was a picture of the angel-filled sky above the shepherds at night, with heaven's light piercing the darkness, and a loving letter piercing my own darkness.

And that day's last connection, was the arrival of an order from Carrabassett Coffee Company in Maine - the coffee I always got at the end of our fishing trips in Rangeley. It awoke vivid memories of Wayne cooking a roadside breakfast in Carrabassett Valley on our way home... a coffee mug with the mountains on it. And it made me remember that life really still goes on, though it may look very different, and that God is still on the mountain, on the hills, surrounding and near.

[Betty in Maine]

On the Road to Find Out.5

Christmastime. Tomorrow is the third Sunday of Advent. Tomorrow is also the 3 month anniversary of Wayne's death.

I was telling a dear friend that the days aren't so much black anymore as fading into gray, but it seems that Wayne is also fading with that, and I hate it. Sometimes strong memories, good and bad, do come out of nowhere in an ambush that brings along unbidden tears. Yet there are also blue skies, happy grandchildren, the odd and bittersweet freedom of making all of my own decisions, Christmas traditions, and glimpses of joy and laughter. In short, there is still life.

I'm settling into more of a routine now, have the house in better order, though far from complete - and we won't talk about what the garage looks like right now. This has been good and healthy work. A few weeks ago, things were very black indeed, and it seems to be these crisis points that either propel you to move forward into the light, or let yourself be dragged down further into the darkness. To light! To life, L'Chaim!

From one of my readings, I came across this gem:
"I knew about the process and steps of grief recovery. But still, it felt like the weight of grief on my shoulders would never be lifted...It's okay to feel that way. But know it won't last forever.

Your feelings at this point aren't the crucial issue. What is important is that you choose to stay close to the Lord and not turn away from Him. If you walk with God as He walks with you, one day you will wake up and say, 'It's a little bit better.'

God is the source of all healing. Make the decision to remain close to Him despite your emotional struggles." (From "through a season of grief").

I'm looking forward to a virtual GriefShare seminar, and want to thank the gentleman who pointed me in that direction. My Christmas tree will be up in the next few days, looking a little different to be more grandchild friendly. But there will still be a few candles on it. My children will be here over the holiday, and we'll find our way through things, laugh and cry and make new memories, while treasuring those of Wayne.

There's so much more that could be written. It is enough to say that God is good, and it's a little bit better. Love & blessings, Betty