Well, Here We Are

I've tried to sit down and write this post about three times.  Every time I make it about a solid paragraph in and I scrap it to start over.  The first pass was already going to be really long winded and detailed.  The second was a little better, but opened the door for about a million rabbit trails to take. I think I've settled on the following for both time and posterity; back to a stream of consciousness brain dump... at least you know you're getting the freshest content. :)

Ash was a gentle (most of the time :) ), compassionate heartbeat.  She had this unwavering focus to point others to Jesus.  She loved deeply and had this ability to meet anyone where they were and pull them in.  She knew me better than anyone and (even in spite of that :) ), she loved me.  She was a tender-hearted mother that loved her girls more than most anything else.  She was passionate for caring for children (summers in other countries working in orphanages, working preschool ministry, her career as a pediatric physical therapist, etc.).  I would always joke with her that her superpower was Heart and that few carried that ability.  She was ambitious.  She had all of these dreams and ideas of the ways things could be.  She was the 'idea girl' of our relationship; she came up with all of these ideas and it was my job to figure out how to make them happen. [side bar: I was usually a stick in the mud and deferred the plan until years later... she was very persistent / this is one of my biggest regrets... not saying yes more often; one of the things that I feel like I've learned and am growing in on this side of everything]

I am humbled by the fact that it's now been an entire year since I've physically seen my wife.  A year since I've kissed her.  Since I've given her a hug.  Since I held her hand.  Since I felt her warmth.  I'd be lying if I said I haven't replayed the final moments of her life in my head numerous times over the past few days. (which basically locks me up for a minute) I've relived the memory of telling my oldest daughter that her mother had died (which, because of how raw of a response that was, has yet to not make me tear up) and on the heels of that memory is the one when I shared the news to our youngest (who didn't fully comprehend the reality of those moments; which may be the most heartbreaking memory of all of them).  I've had small bouts of anxiety making its presence very known (thank you box breathing).  There's been this raw anticipation that's been leading up to this day.  I very much believe that even if I'm not actively thinking about the fact that Ash is gone, that my body doesn't get any reprieve from that reality, and it just remembers this time of year.

I struggle with what to even write about.  How do you summarize a year's worth of details into one post?  How do you communicate how everything is going?  What do you say on a day like today?  Some things that once were clear have been muddied.  Other things that were clouded have come in to focus.  The long and short of it is this; this is what I know: God is good.  He is faithful to sustain.  He is gracious to provide.  He is big enough to trust for all of the details.  He is near enough to know the innermost details of our lives; including the hurts, the confusion, the doubt, the pain, the hope, the dreams, etc...  In His providence, He is working His purposeful sovereignty to the ultimate goal of His Glory.  My story, our story, is not exempt from that providence.  

There have been plenty of lessons learned, heart strings plucked and steps taken both in forward and backward directions (more of the latter than I care to admit).  It seems that the early stages just after Ash died, those were a blur and filled with this numb lack of reality.  I've said this to some friends I've unpacked a lot of this with... that in those months, it was involuntary survival mode.  I don't remember much of anything during that time.  It wasn't for lack of wanting to, but there just wasn't capability to.  I didn't know my head from a hole in the ground.  It was sheer grace from the Lord that my kids and I were even able to navigate that time.  My emotions were certainly out of whack and I had no idea what to do in those quiet and still moments.  Being told to move muscles and the heart would catch up... those were sound, life-giving words during that phase. 

A few months out, reality set in.  It then became a game of survival, but with purpose.  There were LOTS of hard moments.  I was angry, frustrated, sad, alone.  That numb feeling was gone.  There are plenty of days I longed for it to return, just to check out... but that doesn't serve anyone well; so, I leaned in.  I forced myself to read, study, pray, plead... to sit in some tough places until the Lord moved me from them.  In His provision, He put people in my path to help shoulder some of the burden.  He also shored up areas of my life that were, honestly, frail and lacking in conviction.  He also reinforced other areas that were learned through the years of walking through cancer.  

The past few months... those have been the most hard hitting in terms of attempting to make this transition from letting grief stand at the helm to instead letting hope drive.  Not that hope was lost in those first 8 months, but it felt muted.  Rome wasn't built in a day, neither is the restoration of a life that had been entwined with another for 12+ years of marriage.  But for hope, it is the expectation that... if I have a breath still in my lungs, it is to be expended in service to the Most High.  Am I perfect at that? No.  But there is certainly more conviction now than there ever has been.  It's funny how loss, grief, long suffering make a lot of the temporal, fleeting things we face on a daily basis pale in light of eternal, holy things.  Not saying it always has to be so serious and hardline... but it certainly does feel that way at times.

I've said that I don't feel as fun or carefree as I used to be, and to some extent that's true.  Life is thicker now, it's got some grit in the gears... BUT slowly (and I guess with a greater pace as of late) it's also starting to grow into this beautiful picture of hope-fueled anticipation for things to come.  The grief is still very much real (you should see my sleeve while I've been writing this post), but the moments of intense grief are spaced farther apart (and I'd expect that to be true as time continues to march on).  It doesn't mean the grief goes away (as I don't think it ever will, not completely), but it's being replaced with this abandon to live life fully, richly.  There is an awakening of the soul that's occurring (only by God's grace and in light of suffering).  There is purpose to the pain.  There is this growing desire to run toward the roar. There's an adventure to be had, and that excites me more than anything.  

I miss my bride terribly, but I'm not being crippled by it like I was a year ago.  I am not a wreck; no, I think I'm actually ok.  I'm positive that if you don't have to deal with the reality of the loss 24/7, that by me saying 'I'm ok', could be a tough sentence to digest.  Let me assure you, being 'ok' is a great place to be.  It's seasoned with gratitude to the Lord for sustaining me and my family.  It's got a flavor of dependence on the Lord to continue to provide, but it's also filled with His grace that fuels this anticipation for what's next.  It's not void of its share of grief, but it's tempered by this 30,000 foot view of God's providence.  If He is purposefully working all of this for His Glory and for the good of those who love Him and are called according to Jesus... I can 100% trust that the story He is writing for my life is good.

The girls are so resilient.  We have had moments here and there where sadness prevails, but by and large... we can talk through those tough spots.  They've gotten so good at learning how to express themselves (another provision from the Lord!).  This whole thing has forced me to be way more intentional than I probably ever would've been in terms of probing into the emotional/mental health of myself and my kids.  It's nearly second nature to ask 'how are you feeling?' or 'walk me through what you just said' when they bring up an emotion that sounds like it has more meat behind it.  We do a LOT of 'walking things out' in our house (another big change from life before cancer; no more of this surface level 'I'm fine' business).  Honestly, my girls are such a source of purpose and encouragement to me.  They make me (try and...) stay on top of my own well being so that I can shepherd them. I'm not great at a lot of things (seriously mediocre at best), but being a dad is one of my greatest joys in life.  I'm grateful the Lord wrote this story the way He has... that He allowed us to have these two girls before losing my bride.  I shudder to think of where I'd be without them essentially serving as a point of focus in this year of recovery and healing.

At the end of the day today, it will have been the same as the preceding 365... I will still be solo parenting two wonderful girls.  I am still facing the 24/7 reality that my wife is not here anymore.  Yet, the Lord sustains and is faithful to provide (have you picked up on a theme here :) ).  The difference is, unlike the preceding 365, we've hit a milestone day.  The one year mark.  Nothing from this point forward will be a 'first', at least not as far as the calendar is concerned.  So, we'll keep moving forward, moving muscles, letting the heart catch up and trusting that the Lord provides wisdom in all areas of life... making clear the path that we're supposed to walk.