Days like this

It’s days like this that stir up all the little things he used to do for me. Waking up feeling not so good would constitute breakfast in bed. Neck massage and then he’d likely go out and get flowers to give me in hopes it would help me feel better. He was always so thoughtful that way. Making me a cup of tea and trying his best to keeping it quiet so I could rest and feel better. After 42 years of being together, he was pretty good at being able to tell when I had a horrible migraine and even though he hardly ever had any type of headache he had seen first hand what one does to me. He would do whatever he could to help me deal with it and sometimes that meant I was stuck in bed for a few days.

It’s days like this when I am sick and feel awful that I long to hear his encouraging words, his tender care of me, so wish I could hear his voice, see his quirky smile or have the kitchen look like a disaster zone because he managed to dirty every pan to cook some amazing meal. It’s such an empty feeling to look around and realize he is not coming back. There is this feeling of numbness that lingers around that you can’t shake and it’s a constant reminder that his death was real.

I remember all the years I spent traveling for a job and sleeping in hotel rooms with a half-empty bed, but this is so very different. It’s night after night I crawl into the bed I am reminded he is gone. It wasn’t a nightmare although it still feels like one.

Then that still small voice interrupts my thoughts to let me know I am not alone, this is when I lean on Jesus to get me through the moment, the day, the week. It’s that mustard seed of faith I cling to that gives me the courage to get out of bed and face the new day. I remind myself at that moment there are many people who didn’t wake up today and life has no guarantees.

The grief is so heavy at times I’m not sure I’ll be able to breathe. But I know I must take a breath and keep moving for the alternative is to suffocate in that grief, to feel so overwhelmed I can’t move and I know that is not a good choice. So on the outside, I appear to be fine but understand that on the inside I am hurting and sometimes what I need the most is someone who can be silent and just be there.

Grief is a lonely process, but I believe there is hope. It’s not wishful thinking but the sure and certain hope that leaning on Jesus through this season of grief provides courage, blessings, and comfort.

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. (Psalm 46:1)