People
with grief experience warned me that my entire family would bounce between the
stages. I don’t know what stage I am at now, honestly. I don’t cry on a regular
basis anymore, though certain memories will trigger me to tears. I can feel that we are entering a new stage and I’m not sure
what it’s called. I say we because so
far it has been me and the kids. I can’t say anything for Paul, but he has
grieved differently then all of us the whole time and in many ways has held our
family together through this season. I totally credit him with that. I wanted
to share my latest journey because it has me stuck, and because I know it is
wrong. Here is how it started:
We were
at the beach two weeks ago and the rip current was level “red.” At least 4
people, 2 of them strangers, clued us in that 12 people had drowned that year
in the current and the patrol was not taking any risks. The first day at the
beach, before noticing the red flag waving off the lifeguard’s post, Paul took
off to the water. I know he looks forward to swimming every year. I rarely ever
get in the ocean past my knees so I can’t relate, but the goal isn't always to
relate to your husband. Sometimes you just accept you’re different and that is
what I have done. As soon as Paul got out to his shoulders or so, the lifeguard
began blowing a whistle at him to come in. Paul had no idea it was him that was
getting whistled at so I sat there watching along with everyone else, feeling a
bit embarrassed that Paul was not getting the message. Finally, I
instructed my kids to play in the sand and not go anywhere so I could wade out
just enough to get Paul’s attention. I asked the lifeguard why Paul was being
whistled at first off, and he told me about the deaths that summer (again).
With the red flag flying, no one could go into the water past waist deep. I
went into the water, got Paul’s attention, and when he finally saw me he came
closer and I told him the rules. He was a bit taken aback because in his mind
(and I’m sure it is true), he is a great swimmer and learned from the best, his
dad. But that doesn't change the fact that there are rules and a strong
current, and he willingly obeyed. It didn't change the fact that the entire 15
minutes I was sitting on the beach watching Paul, I was feeling so overwhelmed.
My heart was beating wildly in my chest and actually began to ache, for even
though he was waist deep the current carried him inch by inch to where I would
lose sight of him. Every time this happened, I started to cry. It was so
frightening, and by the time he finished swimming and came to greet the kids, I
wasn't really sure if I loved him or hated him. He didn't understand because he
was still following the rules (although I have condemned him for simply toeing
the limit. The crashing waves themselves splashed up to his shoulders and onto
his face!). Eventually, this all
escalated into a minor disagreement because I asked him to please not swim unless
he was not with me. I even promised to give him time alone to swim, just not
with me there. He thought it was dumb, but he complied until there was a “no
risk” day. The rest of the week went on normally, but it was strange. I just
felt disconnected from Paul, which lead me to go about my own business without
him as much as possible. Then came the persistence prodding, “Are you mad at
me? Did I do something wrong?” I wasn't mad. I wasn't upset. I wasn't anything. I just didn't want to be around
him. I do love my husband, and that love would well up inside me at times and I
would feel so sad about what was in my heart- this aloofness I couldn't shake.
In his typical Paul fashion, he was fed up and told me I needed to figure out
my crap, and come talk to him about it. At once the Holy Spirit showed me what
happened. On the beach, I had let such a degree of fear in that something could
happen to my husband, I switched off my heart. I got so afraid that I would
lose him that it seemed easier to just stop caring. Of course, I could never do
that. So I just hurt, torn in desperation to preserve what is left of my
already barely mended heart. I also began to feel entirely unsafe as Paul’s
wife, because Paul is his own person. I can’t control him. I can’t control how
far he goes into the ocean, or how fast he drives, or whether he reads my texts
after the light turns green. It’s so hard to turn my heart fully towards
someone after losing my in-laws so suddenly.
It isn't
just me. Yesterday my five year old told me he had a bad dream. He was eating
lunch so I told him he was crazy and that we don’t dream when we’re awake. So
he told me, “But I did have a bad dream that my Pops and Fifi were taken.” We ended up walking
outside together and he crawled on my lap. I asked him why he was thinking
these things, and we talked to God about it. God told him the devil was giving
him these bad dreams, which seems about right. We talked about how the devil is
a liar, and we asked God to tell us some things that were true. As we were trying to listen to the truth, my
little boy fell back on my shoulder and started to cry, “But I love Pops and
Fifi.” It’s hard to hear the truth sometimes when we’re so afraid, when a much
realer and heartbreaking truth resonates in our hearts: people that we love die, and it hurts. Then, the devil feeds on us like a limp and lonely prey. We are
such an easy target every time we fall aside from the Father’s breast. After I
comforted my son in his pain, I went to get coffee with a good friend. I told
her about my heart issue with my husband and she just listened. When I returned
home, Sonora Grace leapt into my arms and held my neck. She said, “I didn't
think you would come home.” It’s the voice in the back of all of our minds. Self-preservation
is an epidemic in our family. Fear is running rampant.
I realize that in order to stop feeling I have
to turn my heart not just away from my husband, but away from God too. I turn
away and I look to fear instead. I can’t help that an unseen God doesn't feel
very safe to me right now. Loving people doesn't feel safe. But if I don’t have
love, I have nothing. It’s only confidence and trust in His love that will heal
my heart, touch my children, and teach me to love in a way that is greater than
I have ever known before. What I have found in the pursuit of this is a raging battle.
I have found a choice that I need to make every day to not disconnect myself,
and to live like my days are numbered. The answer is not safety, it is love. It
is scary for me in this season, that is true.
It is in my weakness though that God comes through. I am simply riding
on his grace right now, trying to get back to the cross where I am absolutely
safe. This is been my journey the last
couple of weeks, me and the kids too. Learning
to Love after Loss should be the title of a book. Maybe I’ll write it, just
as soon as I figure out fully how it’s done.
