sunflowers

The numerous shades of green are fading.  They are not as bright and luminous as they were in early May and June.  The periwinkle of the Wild Chicory and muted white of the Queens Anne’s Lace are fading, replaced by fields and hedges of woodland sunflowers – their bright faces looking to the sun for nourishment and life -  and I think just because they can. 

The leaves of the walnut trees in my backyard are yellowing and falling – making a mess everywhere. Not to mention the walnuts themselves – way too many for even the enthusiastic squirrels to eat.

And then there are the maple trees – already turning from spring green to autumn orange and red. Brilliant they way they do that!

Transitions – from summer to fall – it actually began about 10 days or so ago – but now it is more obvious – summer is dying down and autumn is taking over…soon the weather will be cool – frosty nights with warm days – pumpkins on the porch and hay bales lining sidewalks everywhere.

And as I drive along the river today, the water glimmering, mirroring the canopy of trees along the way, gliding from somewhere in Wisconsin to the Mississippi River, I’m well aware of this change  ( I know – we Lutherans don’t like it much!). And there is a change in me as well. Transitions – a moving from one way of being to another.  From one way of life to another.  From one relationship to another. Change – transition – it happens in nature, it happens in all of our lives; it happens.

I, too, am in transition.  From married to widow. A couple to single. From pretty much carefree to mourning. And don’t tell me about changing from sadness to joy – or mourning to dancing. I’m not there yet.

Transitions – we all go through them – every milestone of our lives is a transition – baby to child – to adolescent to teen – to 20 something to married with 2 ½  kids, a station wagon (well, maybe now it’s a mini-van) and a dog.  And we all go through one like this – for those of us married or in committed relationships anyway………which is many of us.

But somehow, at least this week, that doesn’t help much.  I’m stuck this week, stuck in the ‘why me?’  And yet I know the answer – why not me? Marriages end – we all die – no one gets out alive…. Even in our Biblical stories, nothing is static – change is constant (there’s another platitude/cliché for you…)  

               

Even the dog is making life difficult – he is still adjusting - but I’m tired of his nonsense too.

So how long does it take, this transitioning? Hunter has been with me for 11 months and still has ‘issues’.  I have been without Glenn for 79 days -  and I still have ‘issues’. 

Will Hunter and I ever not have issues?  Will we ever make this transition to whatever is next, successfully (whatever that means)? Will we ever be able to turn sadness to joy and mourning to dancing?  I certainly hope so – for Hunter’s sake – and mine – but at least today I have my doubts.

The landscape around me will do what it is designed to do – fall will arrive in due course – then the snow will fall and cold will prevail. Mother nature will make sure that her transitions will take place as they aught; on time (hers) and with as much fanfare as she deems necessary.

But for me? And Hunter?  This week, this day, this moment, I wonder.But in spite of all of this – I did buy fresh flowers yesterday. Sunflowers even - their big bright faces smiling at me…………

npr,org

empty

washingtonpost.com

I’m tired, depleted, empty, out of whack,  like a snake skin left behind on the sand. An empty chrysalis; emotionally, spiritually, physically, tired. Done in, not viable, not functional, empty and depleted.

And I don’t know what to do about it.  If anything.  “They” say it takes time – this mourning stuff. And I get it, but then I don’t.  I really want to move on - but then why?

I know what he would want for me – to live – have a life – travel – enjoy the small stuff and the beauty and the wonder. We talked about this – but I’m tired. And I can’t recall ever feeling this less alive.

All of the things I need to do because he is gone; paper work, insurance, finances, etc. etc. etc….ad infinitum …..I’m barely able to manage.  I’m tired.

There is not enough wine in the world to make this better. And maybe that’s what’s so hard – that there is no one to help with the necessities of dealing with the idiots at the various agencies and organizations that are supposed to be here to help. Yet in all fairness, some things have gone well, but patience is not my number 1 virtue – and so I rail against what is not yet settled.

I’d still be in bed if it weren’t for Hunter (the dog, no less!) wrapping himself around my head in the morning and licking my face, ‘it’s time to feed me, Seymour!!’

An I having a solitary pity party? Maybe – but nevertheless, I’m tired.

And if I’m this tired now, how will I feel 3, months, 6 months, 12 months from now? I don’t even want to know.

In today’s paper is a section called “Celebrations.” Anniversaries, milestone birthdays, engagements, etc. of the local people.  And it was an ‘in my face’ moment… We will never be in the paper celebrating another anniversary or milestone birthday – not his anyway – and I certainly wouldn’t do it for myself.  Not ever again.  And so, tired, drained, depleted, empty? Yes. And at the moment there is not a damned thing I can do about it.

And I wonder – how would he be doing if the situation were reversed?

If I died first? What would he be doing now? Today? Tonight? Would he be hitting the brandy? Not sleeping well? Eating next to nothing? Who would he call, if anyone, to help? I have no idea.  It doesn’t really matter – it’s just mental masturbation………with no purpose.

The ‘what ifs’ don’t solve anything… actually makes matters worse………. And so I need to stop the gymnastics.

But I’m tired - empty – depleted -  diminished – cried out and not cried enough.  Pity party? Maybe, but that’s where I am tonight. And there is not a damned thing I can do about it…

The Porch..

I’m sitting on the porch and night is falling (why is it that night always ‘falls’? IDK) 

Anyway – I move from the swing that is now all mine to the chair on the left of the bistro table – which is where I always sit when the two of us are out here together.  

google image

He has his place and I have mine… that’s how it is, right?

And of course my mind goes catawampus- and I think………why isn’t he here now? Where is he? This is where he should be – in the chair next to mine… with the ubiquitous glass of beer to match my ubiquitous glass of wine…it is after 5:00 after all.

But there is silence in that chair… dead silence …and my heart breaks … again.  Sometimes, often, this is more than I can bear.

But what choice do I have? And so bear it I must – and I do, although not very well sometimes……

Is there anything that can fill that void? I don’t think so…. A permanent state of being – the ‘new normal’ (how I hate that phrase), a new reality.  Call it what you will, it sucks.  And that’ s all I have to say…….. it sucks.

Period

Roller Coaster Any One?

public domain image 

I used to love roller coasters – at least as a 20 something and before – not so much now – I can’t even recall the last time I was on one… umptynine years ago at least - until now – and I don’t like it one bit.  Not the ‘Six Flags ‘ kinda roller coaster – the one that life throws at us – at me.

This past week saw some real joys – I bought fresh flowers for the first time in over 2 months….. a decision where to attend church and belong – visits and just hanging out with friends and family – the backyard fence is in and the pups can now play without my delving into fear that they will run off distracted by that loathsome taunting squirrel…

Some joys indeed – in spite of the ever-present fear anger and loneliness.  A good week.

But not always.  Frustration when agencies that are supposed to be helpful are not.

There have been a number of websites and social media sites that have popped up recently – coincidence? I don’t know – but there has been a barrage of ‘help’ about how to navigate grief and mourning -  and for the most part it is just more platitudes and empty suggestions – at least in my mind.  Maybe for someone it might help – but not for me.

My brain is a kaleidoscope of memories, thoughts, emotions, fears and worries.  An endless bombardment of things I think I should or could or maybe even want to do - but don’t have the energy for.

The roller coaster of life.  And none of us get out alive.  We will all crash and burn in one way or another.

And so I wonder – is this what it feels like to have God carry me?  All of this angst?  (In spite of the few moments of joy this week?)

Where is the peace that passes all understanding? It must be in the roller coaster car behind me, cuz’ I’m not feeling the luv……   not now anyway.

So not only do I feel that God has let me down, but my very own body is as well…

(And yes, I know that stress and emotions manifest themselves in the physical…. I get it – I just don’t like it.)  And I don’t know what to do about it.  And I’m angry that I don’t know what to do about it. Because…. in a ‘normal’ world, I would ask Glenn! Duh… ‘’So – husband of mine, what should I do?” And he would tell me – share his wisdom – and often I would take it… He knew me better than I knew myself – often. He was wise that way.

So – roller coaster – only this one has no seat belts – no safety guards – no stop switch if it all goes south.

None of that.

And I’m angry that I don’t know what to do about it…….

Ok God – now what?        

A Chrysalis of Grief...............

Image from Yahoo

I replied to a comment made on another post from a woman whose husband had also died recently and unexpectedly (we have a friend in common, that’s how I knew).  And I said this, ‘…we will emerge someday from that chrysalis of grief and mourning – and while our wings will be wet – they will dry and we will be strong again….’ Now I have no idea where that even came from…it just popped into my head (of course, yes I know, the Holy Spirit/Lady Wisdom…) 

 And I’ve been thinking about that phrase ’chrysalis of grief and mourning’ for the last few days.

So I looked up the meaning of chrysalis – just to see.  And aside from the cocoon that the caterpillar wraps around herself in order to change clothes and emerge beautifully dressed was this: a preparatory or transitional state.

 Huh…………a preparatory or transitional state…. Well, mourning is transitional.  The hope, though, is that there will be movement from grief and all of its accompanying raw emotions and odd behaviors to acceptance and healing through mourning and then forward into a new way of being. 

Now having said that, it sure ain’t easy – but then I don’t imagine morphing from a caterpillar into a butterfly is either.  Just sayin’.

And so I guess it is also preparatory – or does this come first? Does grief and mourning prepare us for something? That’s like saying that it is all part of God’s plan or that God only gives us what we can handle or whatever……and as I’ve said before, I’m not buying that argument/theology/understanding of God… nope.

So maybe the two are intertwined, go together hand in glove. But maybe the mourning process does prepare us to be that different person from the one ‘before’.  And the mourning process is transitional as well.  Like the threshold of  door – a transition from one way of being to another – a transition from one place to another – a transition from one way of thinking, living to another.

Maybe even from one way of loving to another.

That’s not to say that one ‘gets over it.’  And this ‘thing’ that we are wrapped in – that I am wrapped in - sure isn’t cozy.  It’s not that warm comfy blanket that I pull out on chilly days.  It is not a feel-good sort of wrapping.  There are days when the wrap is cold and constricting and so thick I can barely move. There are days when I fight against the wrap of anger and fear and loneliness and too much solitude and not enough tears. 

And yet maybe there is a protective facet to it. It’s been suggested that maybe I‘m still somewhat numb – and that this time is sort of protective wrap to give me time to process all that has happened in the last 2+ months. I can't disagree with that .......

A chrysalis of grief – a protective wrapping - protection from the elements of a world that continues on in spite of our personal tragedy.  While we who mourn are stuck – I am stuck - in the time zone of THAT week, the rest of the world is not. 

 A chrysalis of grief and mourning - a preparatory wrapping to give us who mourn – me – a time to get ready to be someone new and different.

A chrysalis of grief and mourning - a transitional wrapping – a movement from one place, one way of being to another. 

A chrysalis of grief and mourning – maybe it is like that ‘thin place’ of Celtic spirituality where we come close to being in the presence of God… close to seeing the face of God………..maybe….

A chrysalis of grief and mourning – a wrapping that we – I  will shed, at least I hope so, and  I will emerge someday - and while my wings will be wet – they will dry and I will be strong again……

I can only hope.  

Not today

Today started out pretty much ok – a visit from friends, the fence company on its way to install a fence for the pups, so they would have a safe space to play,  making a dish to pass for a gathering tomorrow.  So far so good.  I even made a meal for myself - food that Glenn would never eat, and I would only make when he wasn’t home… but times they are a-changin’.

And so as I eat I’m watching the news – nothing new there – we used to do this too.

But then something happened, and I’m not sure what. It hit me that this is the way it will be from now on… usually eating alone  ( ok, I’ve done this before, no biggy…) but not every night…

Even as a single 20 something – not every night…

So what happened?

I was introduced to a new word the other day – vulnerable.  Of course I know that this means – but it has never been part of my vocabulary when I think about  who or what I am… never vulnerable - not me…. I’m strong- independent- tough broad…feisty… tell it like it is and get over yourself already.

But not today – vulnerable – and I don’t like it one bit.

But there is not a damned thing I can do about it – at least not today.

 Not now.

Maybe tomorrow.

But not now.

Babies are vulnerable – young animals of all kinds – baby robins in the nest – of course- illness makes you vulnerable – aging makes you vulnerable – being at someone’s mercy makes you vulnerable.

And maybe that is where I am – at God’s mercy – and so - vulnerable.  As a woman of faith I should be ok with this – we are all vulnerable before God – but I’m not – not today.

And so I let those waves wash over me because there is nothing else I can do.

Vulnerable – another word to add to who I am.

Stretched.............

August 16

65 days - and would have been our 467^th  month-a-versary…..August 16.  And of course there are no coincidences, right? I saw a video on Facebook that morning - a woman talking about gratitude in the face of being without her husband for 1 year and 13 days (Sheryl Sandberg, Goalcast video).  Her point was that even tho her husband died suddenly and unexpectedly, she was grateful that it didn’t happen while he was driving the kids… and I get it…But……

And then there are all of the various and sundry posts about grief and how each to her own and don’t let anyone tell you how to mourn -  yadah, yadah, yadah, yadah….and then there is all of the proof texting Biblical stuff about what God will or won’t do for you – and then there is this one, also on FB – “God wanted you to have any angel more than a husband.”    Seriously? We have a God that does that?

I’m not buyin’ it…  There are times when some of these comments and bits of advice might be helpful and times when they are not.  This day was not.

Am I grateful? Yes… for family and friends that have kept in touch, sent notes, invited me to lunch or dinner – and so yes I am grateful for all of that….. This would be so much harder without them. Am I grateful that I am still alive – breathing – waking up on the right side of the grass? Most of the time. But still…....

Because I’m now a widow, Glenn is no longer physically here – and I’m supposed to be grateful? For what?  To spend the rest of my life without him? Seriously?

And of course I do ask where is God in all of this – and I know the ‘A’ answer – walking with me, carrying me, etc., etc., etc.  And sometimes that helps - and sometimes not so much.  I can walk by myself thank you very much says the toddler learning to walk.  I do ask what kind of God would ‘take’ Glenn away from me and of course I know that’s not what God does – at least not in my book…

But, this day anyway, it is a stretch to be overly grateful – or grateful at all.

It is a stretch to be comforted by the platitudes, even when they are spoken with the best of intentions.

It is a stretch to think that I’ll get used to this ‘widowhood’.

It is all a stretch right now – and I’m about as stretched as I care to be. I’m stretched like new taffy candy -  or the molten glass not yet a paperweight -  stretched so thin you can see through me – or so it feels.  Stretched – beyond repair? I hope not.  I hope I bounce back.  Remember the slinky toy?  A lot of fun when still wound tightly and they could flop down the stairs – useless when all stretched out and over played …………

I’m not a rubber band – I’m not a contortionist -  I’m not even a slinky - I’m more of a yoyo with knots in my string. So no not today – I am not grateful at all.

But then there is this – the next day………

A long drive and I start thinking (always a sign of trouble!!)…. Being stretched is not always a bad thing.  I used to make stained glass pieces – and with lead caming to hold the glass together.  The lead has to be stretched in order for it to become strong and not flexible.  It has to be strong and rigid to hold the glass securely and firmly in place – otherwise, obviously, there is no window, just a pile of glass …And in large windows, caming is necessary, other techniques won’t do…

So – stretched to become strong – could there be something here?  I’m not suggesting that God does this on purpose – ‘cuz I don’t believe that.  While God may ‘ have a plan’ God does not impose it on us – but lets us work it out  as best we can… That’s my theology, anyway…

But I do believe that when tragedy strikes, when unpleasant things happen to us, when we get slammed by life, broken in a thousand pieces, and runover by a truck, hit by a bus, we strive to make meaning out of it – that’s what we humans do – try to make meaning.  We need to understand the ‘why’ as best we can… and sometimes there is no answer – like ‘why now?’ But we try nevertheless….

So – stretched to make us stronger – not that God is throwing us the curve ball to see if we can catch it – (God doesn’t give us more than we can handle? I’m not buying that either…) but in our broken lives, in our broken world shit happens.

And we do the best we can to cope – to make meaning -  to adjust – to accommodate to this ‘new thing’ into our lives.

Stretched – like lead caming holding the glass together……. Stretched to hold ourselves together – stretched to be stronger. Maybe there is something here after all.

we are in this together.....

2 months and 1 day… the summer has flown by at a snail’s pace – the school year starts tomorrow for many kids – and Labor Day is right around the corner – where did the time go? 

But for me? 2 months and 1 day.  And yet I know all too well that I am not alone.  The father of a colleague dies - the riots in Charlottesville – a woman killed by a rabid driver -  a helicopter crashs and kills 2 – many more injured in the dis-order and dis-ease.  People are dying all over the world – Kenya – Venezuela – the middle east - Jerusalem and Palestine.  How many mothers, wives, husbands, children will come home tonite missing one more person from their family? Death knows no ethnic or racial boundaries.  

It doesn’t have to be this way, much of this death is senseless… but that’s not what is on my mind tonite.

I know I am not alone – there may not be much comfort in that – but we all - ALL - will experience the death of a spouse if we have one, a parent, maybe a child, a friend, a colleague, a neighbor, the shopkeeper down the street, the book seller…..……It’s trite, I know, but death is the end point of life.

We are all in this thing we call life -  and it isn’t always roses and sunshine.  Death rears its ugly head – but we are all in this together – and I know I am not alone. And there is some comfort in that, while at the same time I lament all those other deaths too.

In the past 2 months and 1 day I have been much more cognizant of the pain and suffering that others experience in the death of a loved one – and I know it happens every minute of every day somewhere in the world  - maybe even around the corner in my own neighborhood.

The sermon I heard this morning was about (among others things) perspective… and it struck a chord with me…. We need to keep the events of our lives in perspective….that doesn’t always make it easier….. but I think maybe it might help to mitigate the pain…. we are in this together.

I have to assume that the friends and family of Heather Heyer, the woman killed in Charlottesville yesterday, will try to make sense of it and somehow work to ensure that her death was not in vain….and maybe that’s all we can do once we get past the ‘there, there, it will be ok…. God knows what’s best…’ and get past the physical pain of yet another unnecessary and senseless death.  I can only hope.

We are all in this together.  

Somehow, we need to remember that, we are all God’s children – and yes even the evil, sick and demented ones.  But that reflection is for another day.

But for me – at least today – I can sympathize with the families of those who have died unnecessarily and senselessly.  Those families have had their worlds ripped open, laid bare to the bone, skin and tissue bleeding and jagged, hearts torn in two, as have I.   I know how that feels – and you do to.

But we are all in this world together -  let’s not lose sight of that perspective.

We are in this together. Amen

He passed this way...

He ‘passed away’  -  what the hell does that mean? Passed to where?  From here to there? “From Here to Eternity’? Where is there? ‘He passed by this way…’ on his way to someplace else? Far away?

‘Passed away’… I know what we mean culturally when we say this – he’s dead – died -  gone – no longer alive – buried -  lost…, as in ‘I’m sorry for your loss…’

He passed by on his way to someplace else – ok, so where it that someplace else? An emotional/spiritual state of being? A physical state of what? Dust?

And if he loved me – and he did – why would he pass this way on his way to someplace else?

I know – death is a part of life – I get it. Maybe and sometimes. But not now.  I think sometimes that too much education is not a good thing – it is not always helpful... In my head I know the psychology – I studied it after all and worked in the mental health field for quite a while. So, I know it in my head.  But I can’t always live in my head – I think I need to live in my heart – but am I just ‘shoulding’ on myself?

Sometimes sisters are wise – and she said to me,’ there is no guidebook, (maybe there should be)….no rules, no one to tell you what ‘should happen or when….’ Just be.  Ok.. be what?

So is ‘passing away’ like walking under a ferocious waterfall?  Think Niagara Falls – Victoria Falls – thundering water, billowing clouds of vapor and water, fierce, overwhelming and overpowering, breath taking in it’s beauty and majesty. I, we, have been to both – and there is no way that you could walk through the water fall, where the sound and fury are at it’s most high…. I think it would kill you.

Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe, September 2016, at the height of a drought

And he passed through – except he didn’t make it to the other side alive….

Is that what death is? A pass through? like those dining room/kitchen arrangements, where there is a pass through for the food?? I think it was a 50’s thing…(I think there was one on the set of the ‘Dick VanDyke Show’)

I am rereading ‘The Shack’ – a book of truths  (and there are many), not facts, it is a work of fiction after all. The character that is the Holy Spirit talks about relationship – ours with Jesus/ Holy Spirit/ God and each other as a verb – an action, a ‘doing’, relational, moving, flowing, not static. She talks about nouns as static, staid, not moving. Not alive – and so does that mean my relationship with Glenn, our marriage is now a noun and not a verb?

I’ m guessing…something no longer alive? But dead? Like he is? No longer active and alive? But what about what is in my heart? Is that dead too? Are memories dead? I don’t think so – to both questions…

But I wonder. And I wonder a lot – 58 days of wonder and bewilderment…

Maybe that's why

It was quiet outside last night as dusk was falling.  The trees still – leaves not clapping their hands - no wind to speak of – quiet and still - the very air immobile. And it is like that now this day.

Plain Trees on the Briaire Canal, France

Quiet, still, the trees are not clapping their hands today either – a storm might be on its way - it feels that way anyhow.  Quiet and still.  The eye of the hurricane? Maybe the storm is raging inside me – something is – nothing feels right.

The house, too, is quiet and still. Even with the dogs panting, nails clicking on the floor as they move around, Vespa incessantly grooming herself (even in old age I think she is vain – “o -  you’re so vain…!”) or Hunter barking at the squirrels, it is quiet and still. There is an eeriness here that I can’t explain – or maybe don’t want to.  Why today?

It’l be 8 weeks tomorrow – and it feels like 800 years... maybe that’s why.

I look around, everything is still in its place, nothing has changed. Yet everything has changed and nothing is in its place. Maybe that’s why.

And I think – ‘what should I make for dinner?’ And then I think ‘why bother, there are leftovers in the frig -and its just me anyway.’ Maybe that’s why.

Maybe I should turn some music on – but no, I don't think I can stand the noise. Maybe that’s why.

But it too quiet and still, except for whatever is raging inside me. Yet whatever it is, I can’t get to it.  It’s too quiet and still.

Even taking the dog for a walk was like being in another world – the entire neighborhood is quiet and still - not one person outside- no casual traffic – no coming or going, no to and fro – nothing.  Am I in the “Twight Zone?” Remember? Quiet and still.

Even when we would be home together – it was never this quiet and still.  There was a spirit, an energy here that is no longer.  Maybe that’s why.

Maybe that’s why the trees are not clapping today….and it is quiet and still – maybe the trees are mourning for me – with me, it’s been 800 years since that day. And it’s only just begun.

Maybe that’s why.

trees can clap their hands

I’m sitting in the swing chair on the porch, hands gripping, white knuckle like my life depends on it – and it does – a major melt down earlier – recognizing that there is  no offspring of my own to take care of me when I’m old and incapable and incontinent and blubbering and babbling…and so I have to find someone who will...

But of course, I’m thinking, as usual my mind is in 7th gear,  I see the wind moving through – a storm has passed unobtrusively with just a sprinkling of rain and not much else –  I see the trees moving with the wind - leaves fluttering like a heartbeat – twilight is descending, slowly … ( ok – so why does dawn break and twilight descend?)

My heart hurts so much I almost can’t bear it - beating against my chest like a drum -  deep  -  fast – incessant – way too many beats per minute – and yet not nearly enough to sustain me…it hurts…
I can remember only 2 other times I my life where I have been so afraid – an ex-husband with a gun – and the pole at the high ropes course in seminary.  Even when Glenn had pneumonia, I was worried, but I was in over drive and so scared was not on the radar… I just knew he would be ok……and he was.

The trees are dancing – a liturgical dance? Limbs moving to and fro – the air clean and cool, crisp even, a far cry from the wet of days previous… but I still have a death grip on the swing…

Nothing is helping tonight – not the wine – not the music - not the memories – that actually makes it worse.

And yet these trees seem to be clapping their hands – (thanks Isaiah) the storm is past – joyful trees? Maybe – but I am not – joyful that is, at least not now. But maybe, just maybe, they are trying to tell me something if only I could hear …

Leaves are falling softly to the ground as the wind wonders through the night  - I see butterflies trying their best to maintain altitude -birds are disappearing into their respective nests – it is almost night after all – and there was evening and there was day – and it was good – except that I am not – good that is – not in a good place – but maybe this is where I need to be – except that I don’t want to be here - no one ever does… and so now what?

suspended animation

7 weeks plus 2 days = 51 = 1224 hours = 73,440 minutes = 4,406,400 seconds. (and yes I used a calculator!) of suspended animation -  suspended like a banana in jello (yuck to both…) 

A friend reminded me I’m still numb – and she is right - still in shock – and my head knows that - suspended as in just hanging there, not moving, dangling, still, paralyzed, heart and lungs aren’t working very well, ‘cuz I can’t breathe much of the time…

Suspended…a waiting game? I’m not at the airport, thank you very much, I’m not waiting for that important job interview, or that needed check in the mail… suspended…. as in a waiting game I don’t want to play…have you ever experienced a sensory deprivation tank? This is eerily similiar...

My heart has stopped beating with any normal regularity – I can’t breathe half the time – why today or yesterday, and the day before, but not before that?  Why now? Hell if I know.  Suspended animation….

I used to be animated – laughing at his silly jokes, silly pups and their antics, laughing at stupid stuff – wonder at beauty – the sky-blue-pink sunset (like two nights ago) hummingbirds at the feeder – the robins in the bird bath – it’s their Wisconsin Dells.. I could laugh – and sometimes I still do.

But I’m still in suspended animation …..I go through the motions – ‘things’ do need to be done, after all, but still – suspended -  sleepwalking - not awake, not alive but not quite dead – although close - emotionally paralyzed - and as much as I want the pain to stop – walking into the ocean would be a reprieve – I don’t have the energy for that either…and there is none close by anyway....…

Suspended…  In seminary, I took a high ropes course, and was able to tackle all but one of the elements.  I had to climb a pole, about 25-30 feet in the air, then stand on top of the pole. Now, yes I was harnessed in, and the team would make sure I did not fall, but still, there were no handle bars – nothing to hold onto except imaginary air. And so  just imagine standing on a telephone pole 25 feet in the air with no obvious means of support – and nope. i. couldn’t. do. it.  I froze, had to back down and say – nope. not this time. 

Well, not ever, actually… and that’s what this feels like.  Except where do I back down to?  I’m not Cher – I can’t turn back time… I can’t go back to before THAT day, no one can. Not me - and certainly not him...

So it’s go forward  - but how? Or not at all?  - and stay suspended in time? I could, I suppose, stay stuck, that is… and here come the men with the white jackets… 'arms crossed in front of you, please…' no that’s not an option either…

But still - Suspended. Like the proverbial banana in Jello -yuck…

The other night I went to hear the LOMC Swing Choir – and “Tell Your Heart to Beat Again” by Danny Gokey was one of the songs they sang.  They did a terrific job of it…and it brought me to tears… it was all I could do to keep it together…because it’s about being unstuck… and I’m not there. My heart beats irregularly –  I have a hard time breathing – think fish out of water – or human in water ... either way drowning for lack of what is needed to survive.

This is the first verse – (you can hear the song on YouTube)

You're shattered
Like you've never been before
The life you knew
In a thousand pieces on the floor
And words fall short in times like these
When this world drives you to your knees
You think you're never gonna get back
To the you that used to be

Anyone who has experienced intense overwhelming grief knows that you will never be the same as before – that is impossible.  I suppose the hope is that at some point you will be, at the least, capable of living the life your loved one would have wished for you.  So I’m going to assume that at some point, you who are mourning, and I, will be able to sing this last verse and mean it….  If only my heart would listen.

Tell your heart to beat again
Close your eyes and breathe it in
Let the shadows fall away
Step into the light of grace
Yesterday's a closing door
You don't live there anymore
Say goodbye to where you've been
And tell your heart to beat again
Your heart to beat again
Beat again

Oh, so tell your heart to beat again

If only I could… at least for a moment…maybe someday...