Your Guest is as Good as Mine

Sometimes you go through life seeing someone everyday for awhile. Perhaps it's a school classmate. Perhaps it's a coworker. Regardless, you get used to seeing them there. Then, slowly, life takes you in a different direction and you start seeing one another less often. Days become weeks and weeks become months. Sometimes, during that time, you begin to wonder whatever happened to them (unless you are Facebook friends in which case you know what their cat had for breakfast that morning). Then one day, from out of nowhere, they show back up in your life. Maybe for a moment. Maybe for a lifetime. This has occurred to me more times than I care to remember and in most cases the reunion is a good one as you reminisce about the good old days. But other times you see them coming and you try to avoid them without it looking like you're trying to avoid them. That too has happened to me and, to be completely honest, I have dodged a person or two myself in my lifetime. 

My visitor today was someone I had not seen in awhile and really didn't care to ever see again. I know that sounds harsh but, if you're honest with yourself, you know of people like that too. If you have read my blog in the past you have heard me talk about this individual. And if you've ever met him you too have probably tried to avoid him. I'm referring to my old pal, Angry Me. 

Angry Me lived with me all last Summer and most of the Fall and Winter too. He began to move out in the Spring and by the beginning of the next Summer he only came back occasionally to collect some things he had left behind. 

If you aren't familiar with Angry Me let me tell you a little bit about him. Angry Me is a very selfish individual. He concerns himself only with how he feels and not how others feel. He only wants what he thinks is good for him and doesn't care who he has to hurt to get those things. Angry Me refuses to put anyone else first. Especially God. 

I don't like Angry Me. 

This time of year can be a bit difficult to say the least. What once was at one end of the joy spectrum has now swung in the complete opposite direction. This creates a very welcome environment for Angry Me. Angry Me carries all of his hurt on his shoulder and, if that doesn't make it noticeable enough for you, then he will hold that hurt high above his head until someone comes along, feels sorry for him, and tries to take the load. And he will trick you into thinking you are helping. In his convoluted Tom Sawyer way he will convince you to take away his pain when he knows that there is no way you can. Misery loves company and he wants to bring you down to his level so he doesn't have to be there alone. I bet you don't like Angry Me either. 

This time was different. This time I saw Angry Me from far enough off to do two things. The first thing I did was shield as many people as I could from Angry Me as possible. I wanted to show Angry Me that he was no longer welcome in my home. And, so far, it has worked. Angry Me has sat silently as I've prayed for the help I need. As I've prayed for God to make me a better man. As I've tried to let God slowly into the room I had fixed up for Angry Me to live in and totally remodel it. Secondly I made a conscious decision to focus on other things than what Angry Me wanted me to focus on. The first thing only made the second thing that much more difficult. Angry Me doesn't do well if he doesn't have a captive audience. And anything that would divide my attention is not good for his well being. 

Angry Me wants me to be alone. Being alone makes me recognize how lonely life can be. Never before in my life have I ever felt more alone even when I sit among other people. Angry Me likes me to focus on that. The more I focus on the fact that I am alone, the more time he has to move back in. But I'm working hard to let my alone time be spent focusing on the blessings I have rather than the blessings I no longer have. 

I'm sure that Angry Me will probably hang around for the holidays looking for a chance to step in where he is not wanted. And he may even try to bunk up in his friend Sad Me's room. Sad Me will be like Matthew McConaughy in Failure to Launch and stay for a long time but eventually he too will have to go to.

Please be patient with me. I can only work on one Me at a time!

All by myself, don't wanna be

Traveling down this road from grief to hope to happiness I find myself stumbling more often than not. Sometimes the trips are caused by other events in my life. Sometimes I stumble over obstacles I have placed in my own way. And there are other times I know I just need a nap. As I've mentioned in a previous blog post, grief is physically draining (see Luke 22:45). Thankfully I have had friends in my life who step up and try to fill the void caused by the impact of the grief meteor that ripped a hole in me. Faith, friends, and fellowship. Those are the things that pull me through. 

I am forever grateful that God looks at the heart. But there is no doubt that man looks on the outside. On the outside your friend that is going through the grief event is probably not as far along as you think. And, in an attempt to be transparent as usual, I will confess that I get that way sometimes. But, if you are a fellow grief traveler, you often don't recognize how far you have actually come. Sometimes you need to look back and see that, although the end is nowhere in sight, the beginning is further away than it has ever been. 

Have  you ever noticed how much children grow the greater the time between visits? If you only see your nieces or nephews at Christmastime these words (or some to the same effect) will almost always be heard, "Oh my goodness! Look how big you've gotten! You must have grown a foot since I saw you last." That child did not have an instantaneous growth spurt. You just weren't there for their journey. If you are the parent of that child you are fully aware of how much they have grown, but you are probably not aware of the day to day changes. Grief is a lot like that. You who sit on the outside looking at us can see the growth. Those of us still facing the pain and loss every day wonder if we will ever get better. 

You on the outside see us as we begin the journey and occasionally spot us along our path. You can see the race as a cross-country trip. The racers on the other hand feel like we are in a NASCAR event. We are seeing the same things over and over as we circle the track feeling like the finish line is simply another name for the starting line. You on the outside do not see that, in our quiet moments we cry out to Jesus and ask him why. We shake our fists at the storm like Lt. Dan and silently scream as we see that which reminds opus of what we lost. 

So, what does someone need who is traveling down this road? I believe that every grief traveler needs something or someone to remind him or her just how far they have actually come. And they need a reason to get off the circular track and back onto a track that has them going ever forward. 

When you have a person in your life that you love so deeply that even breathing without them is difficult it takes some reminders that it is worth moving forward. When you have more than one catastrophic event you need someone to point out your progress and offer encouragement. And, when you lose someone who was by your side through it all and was always ready to speak your love language, you need someone to scratch your back. 

Then again, that last one may have just been for me. 

Dream weaver

I finally did it. Last night I spent part of the evening with the woman of my dreams. It was unbelievable! It was what I had hoped for and I pray that I'll get to see her again. We have been together before but last night was extra special. As we lay together I looked into her beautiful eyes. I said something that made her laugh and then I wrapped my arms around her and we rolled over together. A little too far as we fell to the floor. We both laughed and then she got up and made her way into the bathroom. She stood at the sink and was looking into the mirror. I could only hope that she was seeing the perfection I saw. Then it happened. This mixture of emotions came over me and I began to weep. She turned and looked at me with concern and asked me what was wrong. I told her that THIS as wrong. This wasn't supposed to be happening. That I knew I was dreaming and I was scared I was going to wake up. She stepped toward me. She was wearing a pair of white flannel pajama pants with lavender flowers on them and a blue t-shirt. She looked so beautiful. She put her hand to my face as I unsuccessfully tried to fight back the flow of tears. She told me that I wasn't dreaming. That this was real. I reached out to pull her to me and hold her in my arms. 

She lied. It was a dream. A very vivid dream. My wife had come to me in my sleep and, for a few short seconds all was right in my world. I begged myself to stay asleep forever. To never wake up from this dream. Even if we suddenly found ourselves feeding rocky road ice cream to polar bears in Alaska while our jet packs cooled behind us under the watchful eye of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Or we were tunneling under the Leaf River trying to escape the zombies. It didn't matter what weird dream I had, just as long as my wife was in it. 

I feel for my friends who have lost loved ones and never get these special visitations. I would certainly have them, even if they only last seven seconds. But the impact of these dreams leave me gasping for air all during the next day. I want more than anything to go back to sleep and dream of her again. But who can predict when these dreams come? I even try drinking the same drinks and eating the same foods to see if I can revisit the dreamland that she resides in. Instead I find myself playing cards with John Goodman and smoking crayons. 

A part of me wants to believe that these visitations are a glimpse of another reality. One in which my wife and daughter are still with me. That we are still one happy family. I wish to be able to switch places with the me that resides in that reality so I can be with them again. 

Instead I find myself with my head on a tear soaked pillow with no one's head on the pillow beside me. I again reach my foot over for the reassuring presence of another only to find more emptiness. I bury my head to the echo of screams of unfairness in the room and try to force myself to sleep. But the silence of the room is deafening. 

Tonight I will sleep in hopes of dreaming of this beautiful woman again. And perhaps our daughter will join us. Together we can be a happy family again. If only in my dreams. 

However, you, my dear friend, you have a chance to make your own dreams come true. You have a chance to remember why you fell in love in the first place and let your loved one know it. You have the chance to pull her into your arms, apologize for not letting her know enough how much you love and appreciate her. You have the chance to hold her, to kiss her, to compliment her, to reach your foot over and find her next to you. You have a chance to be that alternate reality that another you longs for.  

Don't let that chance pass you by. 

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth...

"You'll know when it's time." No. No I won't. I'll know when it's not time, but only because I thought it was time and found out it wasn't. 

Some well meaning people have told me countless times that I would know when it is time. And maybe I will eventually. But what I am finding out is that I am learning when it is not time. But just what exactly is it that I'm supposed to know it's time for? What if I feel it's time to get rid of some of the stuff that makes this house a home. The clothes, the trinkets, the jewelry, the make-up, the other objects that hold so many memories. What if I think I'm ready only to find out, after its all gone, that I wasn't ready after all? 

I was ready to take off the wedding band one day, and then later that day I rushed to put it back on. Eventually I managed to take it off my finger and move it to a chain around my neck. But I still find my thumb searching my ring finger for that thing that gives it it's name. I try to spin the ring on my finger only to be reminded that it is no longer there. I tap my hand on a table expecting the sound of the ring striking the hard surface only to hear a different sound. Different than I have heard in the last quarter of a century. 

I was ready to pass along some items to family and had more success there. Perhaps because I know my family values those things and I can see them whenever I want. I won't ask for those things back because they aren't really gone. Like the ring that once announced to the onlooker that I was taken, they are merely residing in a different location. 

What about other things in my life? I know when it comes to dating that I am not looking for a replacement for Wanda. For similar reasons, I didn't replace Beth with anything. As I've mentioned before, Beth and Wanda have already been replaced. Everywhere they once resided grief now fills that void. What I am looking for now is to replace the grief. However grief doesn't get replaced as easily as the thing that once held the space grief now occupies.

I've spent some time with a number of people in the last six months in an attempt to find something to replace the grief. The toughest part is recognizing my feelings for what they are. Am I developing feelings for a person or am I developing feelings for something to replace the grief? I've know too many people who, in an attempt to replace grief, have acted quickly. I know a few friends that have chosen wisely but I've also know people who regretted those choices. Don't you think they thought they knew it was time?

My friends know the grief that fills my heart. That grief that pours from my eyes in a cascade down my cheeks. It happens every day. Still. And they want so much for me to not hurt. And I can admit to myself that it would be nice to not hurt. And there have been several nights lately that I have not cried myself to sleep because I had a nice day or evening that left me focusing on the good. But replacing the grief with something long lasting is a bit more difficult. The last thing I want is to anchor myself to something or someone that I will (or more importantly, they will) regret a few months down the road. 

Do you remember losing your first tooth? The adult tooth came up and pushed the other out.  Eventually it was replaced by a larger, permanent tooth that eventually fit in with other teeth as you began to lose those. But until it did there was a noticeable gap. Especially if the front two teeth, those most prominent, are gone. You look at the grin of a six year-old missing his incisors and you can't help but have an emotional response. When it comes to losing baby teeth, that emotional response from that toothless grin usually results in a smile of your own. However, when you see me and recognize the gap in my smile, in my life, the emotion is not usually marked with a smile. And, until what is supposed to grow in that spot finally shows up, I guess we will all keep our smiles to ourselves. 

So today I am just going to admit that I probably won't know when it's time for whatever it is supposed to be time for. Instead I am just going to try to recognize when it isn't time. Sound confusing? You should see it from my side of things. But then again, I pray you never have to. 

Doctor, doctor, give me the news

Happy Mother's Day to me. No, I know it isn't Mother's Day but today I realized what it must be like to be a mother. I am a little under the weather and had to experience what it was like to be home and not have anyone to wait on me. Nobody to make sure I take my medicine. Nobody to check on me. Nobody to fix me dinner or bring me a snack. Nobody to nurse me back to health. Nobody to play doctor with. Just like a mom. 

When Wanda would get sick I would stay by her side. I would try to get her things and take care of her. But sometimes life would get in the way. I would need to go to work or I would have other obligations and she was left to fend for herself. With her medical background she would usually be able to self-diagnose and self treat so we seldom involved a doctor. But then came the day when she really needed a doctor. And a nurse. And a radiologist. And all those other people I keep getting bills from. And during that time I made sure life didn't get in the way. The ICU nurse was kind enough to let me visit after regular visiting hours so, for the last time, I was able to sleep beside my wife. I believe the nurses could see the writing on the wall and they didn't want to deprive me of that opportunity. 

So today, after church and after visiting with family and friends I found my way home. I took some medicine and I was forced to lie around and do nothing. And that's when it's the toughest. Left alone to our thoughts, those of us battling grief seldom think good thoughts. And having no one there to share the grief only makes it worse. In my case I honestly (and perhaps I'm being too honest in these blog posts?) fight with Angry Me. And Angry Me doesn't want to be good. Angry Me wants to throw things and get in trouble. Perhaps because Angry Me needs to be punished. Or perhaps Angry Me needs to be talked down. Fortunately for everyone, Angry Me was alone and he went away sooner rather than later. 

As the medication kicks in and starts to make me feel fewer symptoms of this cold, I'm reminded that the scripture says that a merry heart does good like a medicine. I believe that scripture to be true. 

The problem is when the nurse goes away and takes that medicine with her. 

A song for the ages

Relaxing on the porch tonight I quietly listened to the cicadas sing their love songs. Only the male cicada makes this sound in an effort to attract his mate. Every click, every chirp, indicates  a lonely cicada. At times they are quite loud while other times the sound is reduced to only a handful of solo artists in this nature's choir. 

As the evening comes to an end I wonder if my heart makes a similar sound that is only heard by my love. Does she hear the echo in heaven? Is it literally music in her ears? What does it sound like to her? Is it a blues song? Is it a twangy country tune? Does it call to her from across this great expanse? Together, are she and Beth busy with the things of heaven? Too busy to hear my song? Or, does God allow them to sit among the great crowd of witnesses that He has cheering me on? Am I a one man concert for friends and family that have gone before me?

I wonder, does she recall the words that flowed from my pen so many years ago in the poems and songs I wrote for her? Has she forgiven me for not writing as I once did? How many poets and wordsmiths could craft a sonnet of beauty while actually in the presence of that beauty? Why is it that we have to be apart from the very thing that inspires our words for the words to present themselves? Perhaps it is because the beauty that inspires us so captivates as to keep us from thinking clearly. 

Who is it, that while sitting on Santa's lap, asks him for something we already have? I had a love that was so special and sweet. A gift from God above that brought me yet another gift. Now both of those gifts are no longer with me and the words again begin to flow. The song on my heart beats on. The pounding sometimes soft, sometimes loud, but ever thrumming. 

I am a solo artist. My song is there. To be heard in heaven for sure, but, just maybe, to be heard on earth again. That is my song. Do you hear it? Do you sing it too?

Might As Well Face It...

A friend of mine, a recovered drug addict from the 70's, once told me that the definition of an addict to him was someone who used when they were alone. A recreational user simply used when they were part of a crowd. No party, no real draw to the substance. However, if you use the drug of choice when you were all alone then you were truly addicted to the drug. That being said, I am an addict. 

No, I'm not addicted to drugs (except for the occasional Advil). I'm also not addicted to alcohol, even though (Pastor, please don't read this part) I partake in an adult beverage on occasion - even when I'm alone. ("I love Jesus, but I drink a little.") but I'm not addicted to either of those things. No, I'm addicted to my beloved. I think about her all the time. But I especially think about her when I'm alone. As a matter of fact, one of her favorite songs she would play was "Addicted to Love" by Robert Palmer. (Yes, you're welcome for that ear worm.)

Thoughts of my bride consume me. She was a special woman. The most special in the world. And she knew me better than I know myself. Over the course of our marriage we had discussions about what would happen if one of us passed. She was certain that I would be married again within nine months. I laughed at her and told her it wasn't going to happen. And it's still not on my radar. But, since I have been open and honest with you dear reader, I now understand why she said this. For many men, and probably women as well, grief eventually turns to loneliness. As I think about the guys I know who have been in my position, I know a number of them who remarried within a year after losing their mate. And I'm beginning to understand why. In Genesis God looked at man and said he was not meant to be alone. Each time Wanda looked at me and told me I would be remarried within nine months I took it to mean she needed reassurance that she was the only one for me. Now I am beginning to see it as her recognizing my need to not be alone. I do not do alone well. I don't eat. I don't sleep regularly. I sometimes sit in the quiet with only my thoughts to keep me company.

I had lunch with a good friend today and we talked about being alone. Having been divorced for awhile he told me it took about a year before he was comfortable with being alone. Now he has no real problem with it. His new house is set up for a bachelor's life. He looks forward to being alone with his son as well as being alone when his son is with his mom. It took him time to get there, but he did. I envy him for that. I also envy the time he gets to have when his son is playing in the house. I may never get there. But I'm trying. But sometimes, and, ironically, I'm not alone in this thinking, loneliness in the silence of an empty house is very loud. 

So as I venture through my journey and begin to figure out where to go from here, I thought I would close with a little note I wrote her about a month after telling her goodbye:

It doesn't matter what I do, I'd rather do it with you. 

It doesn't matter who I see, I'd rather be seeing you. 

It doesn't matter where I go, I'd rather be with you.

It doesn't matter what makes me happy, I'd rather be happy with you.

Whatever I do, whatever I see, wherever I go, whenever I'm happy, it would be so much better with you. 

I miss you.

By the way, she would really be ticked at me for posting this picture (the last one I took of her). But if she doesn't like it she is more than welcome to come tell me to stop!