Five Years

Last week marked the five-year anniversary of my husband’s death.

How can that possibly be?

Wasn’t it just yesterday morning he brought me coffee in bed, and yesterday afternoon we argued about dirty dishes in the sink? Wasn’t it last night he gently scratched my head until I fell asleep, and I woke to him snoring beside me?

If you’ve read along with me these past few years, you’ve probably noticed my grief slowly change. I can think of Neil now without my heart feeling like a wet dishrag being squeezed and twisted. I can remember the good times without tears. The rose-colored glasses of memory have slowly returned to clear lenses that show our life together wasn’t perfect.  Even so, not a day goes by when I don’t miss him.  

What’s my advice to the Colleen of five years ago? Here are my thoughts:

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My Word for 2020: Cooperate

Its that time of year when we balance looking back with looking ahead. We look back at the regrets and mistakes of the past year and vow not to repeat them. We look back at the joys and blessings and try to figure out how to keep them.

We map a New Year filled with all the good and none and of the bad; make our plans and resolutions, all the while declining to acknowledge that we aren’t really in control.

Remember Woody Allen’s saying, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans”?  I don’t envision Him sitting up in heaven blatantly thwarting my dreams for a perfect life. I do see Him smiling and asking, “Why do you insist on going your own way? Why don’t you listen to My voice and let Me help you?”

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Christmas Mourning

I clearly remember our last Christmas with Neil. We spent it in the hospital without tree or decorations. Our daughters were there, and we feasted on pizza from a gas station while we snuggled on a bumpy hospital bed enjoying TV Christmas movies. We all knew what was coming, but we put aside the future in favor of the present. It was one of my favorite Christmases. We eat Christmas pizza in Neil’s honor ever since.

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A Tale of Two Miracles

My daughter, Jordan, recently ran her first half marathon. As with her sister before her, I planned to cheer from various vantage points along the course.

“See you at five miles, ten and the finish line!” I called, dropping her off as close to the starting point as I could. The early morning air was chilly and brisk, full of excitement as other runners were dropped off and other families wished them good luck.

Only after she got out of the car did I realize two important problems. The first was that many streets were closed that morning to accommodate the runners. The second was that I do not know Richmond at all. My GPS did not acknowledge the closed roads, and the detour signs were inconsistent. I gave up the plan to cheer at the 5th and 10th mile markers and decided instead to head out of the downtown area to a park the course passed through. I figured at least there would be parking at a park and said a quick prayer for God to help me find my way.

Unfortunately, all the roads that accessed the park were closed, and there was no easy go-around. I drove around aimlessly for a while, in and out of charming neighborhoods, where people were still asleep or at least warm inside enjoying their coffee. I pulled in front of a little bungalow, just as a couple and their dog came out. I rolled down the window and asked if they knew where the marathon route was.

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Control and Worry and Trust, Oh My!

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about trust. Such a simple word to say; such a difficult thing to do.

I realize I don’t quite trust anyone but myself. I spend a lot of mental energy devising back up plans: an alternate dinner in case my daughter forgets its her turn to cook; a dog sitter list in case my regular one cancels at the last minute; a different route to work in case there is flooding or road work. If I’m honest, I don’t even trust God; I ask for His help but always have a plan of my own in case He doesn’t come through. I waste so much time preparing for events that never even happen. What an exhausting way to live!

Maybe it grew out of the knowledge that no one is perfect and that even those we love can let us down. More likely it grew out of my ongoing need for control -another simple word, but one that can wreak havoc on my life. I bet you can relate.

Control is illusive. Every time I think I’ve come up with a contingency plan for the problems in my life, something unexpected pops up. Every time I think I have my schedule – or my house, or my patients, or my diet or my exercise, etc. – under control, something unexpected derails me.

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