Keeping the Faith

     It will be two years in a month since our loss, and the passing of time somehow taught me that pain, sadness, tears, fears, and grief will always be part of life. Although the surge of sorrow is no longer as immense as the first year, it doesn’t mean that the days get any easier. I have to deal with it every day. There are so many memories and triggers, at church, with people, and tears just fell unexpectedly. I see my husband’s semblance in our children, especially the strength of character in our daughter, who is coping well by God’s grace after she acknowledged her grief. I am now experiencing more comforted grief moderated by our Father in heaven, although I still struggle, bouncing back and forth between wholly trusting God and questioning God and His plan for my life.     

This year, I am healed and healing…I hear familiar songs without really getting emotional. There are still meltdowns that come out of nowhere, like the waves of the sea. It shows whenever the thought feels like it, but the real challenge is rebuilding our life (without him physically), but his likes, fashion, and lifestyle continue. Keeping my faith helps me through each day. I am holding and falling into God’s hands. He is in complete control, as it is more than I can handle at times. I must trust in him to guide me and direct what I feel is more than possible. I am thankful and blessed to have God with me and for making me not feel so alone. With Him, I am better and realize that joy can still be found. The grief and sadness we have from the loss of my husband will never go away, but that all-consuming sorrow will, as Jesus is leading me to. 

     I wonder what life for two years be like for us; I can imagine us in the city where he pastored. He would probably be “stirring the pot” and should have been 55 by now (but he will always be 53 in my heart). I can only imagine how joyful it would be to see him home, his voice, his teasing, his touch. I miss my cowboy husband; I miss him so. I am infinitely blessed, honored, and thankful to God that we had each other for 34 years (25 years married, nine years engagement). Sharing his memories with people he loved is helping me. It also reminded them about a piece of himself that they had lost in touch with and somehow returned, and sharing these helps us hold securely to the pages already written about him.

    I look forward to the ones that will still be written and will keep going. My love will continue his story, and I will keep writing as I wait to see him on that beautiful shore. My love for him has only grown since I last saw him, and as the day passes, it gets me closer to meeting him again