It’s been almost four years since Mark died. I look back and see all the ways I’ve been brave, strong, faithful, determined and persevering. And yet, it’s easier to notice all the ways I am less than I was before. I’m easily overwhelmed, normal decisions often make me anxious and I can’t help but see how I’m not at all the same caliber in the Mom department anymore.
Most days I ignore these blatant truths and just push onward. I’m doing my best, really I am. Many days I find myself working hard towards enjoying and bettering my life. In effort to make improvements, I’ve joined the “Y” and have been trying my best to work out at least 4 days a week. Don’t get too excited, I haven’t lost any weight. Turns out you have to also eat less. Unjust! Fallen world!
A couple weeks ago I was into my favorite part of one of my workout classes, the part called cool down or stretch. It’s my favorite because a) I can breathe normally again and b) it signals the class is almost over! Usually during cool down, our instructor chitchats with us as we stretch. During this particular class, she told us about her Dad’s 70th birthday. She went on to describe the gift she and her kids were making for him. She spoke about her siblings and how they were all celebrating her Dad’s milestone birthday. I was enjoying the story, as well as the resting heart rate. I was smiling and laughing at the funny anecdotes – life was normal and good. And then, in one sentence, it wasn’t.
Our instructor casually mentioned her Dad was actually her Step-Dad. Her biological Dad died when she was 11 years old, so “this is the only Dad I remember,” she said.
In an instant, my mind raced and tears began to fall silently, camouflaged by sweat, thank goodness. My younger kids were eight and 10 when their Dad died. Was she telling me they aren’t going to remember him?? My mind raced. I had to quietly pack up my mat, return my hand weights and leave the class before the final stretches were complete. I had to get out of there. I sat in the parking lot and cried in my van for a good five minutes before I could drive home.
To this day, the most difficult part of my loss is watching my children growing up without their Dad. My individual loss feels terrible, but manageable. But, the kids? I hate that they don’t have him. If that weren’t enough, they also don’t have the best of me anymore. When I had my husband by my side, I was a better Mom. I really was! We shared the responsibility, and tag-teamed the difficult moments. In his absence, I am not the Mom they used to have. I miss the pretty okay Mom I was before. The Mom they have now is tired. She’s overwhelmed, stressed out, has less patience, is sometimes depressed, confused and uncertain about her future. She worries more than before and she’s definitely less fun. But she’s doing her best.
I want more than anything to be what they need. I’m trying to be what I need, too. But just when I think I’m making headway, grief jumps out of nowhere, screams in my face and knocks me down. I expected this the first year or two, but now I’m coming up on four years and honestly I didn’t think grief ambush would still be a thing. Will it always be lurking in the shadows? Will there be unexpected moments ten years from now that stir up the pain of loss? Will I find myself laughing with friends in 20 years and then suddenly start crying when a memory is stirred?
I’m feeling like maybe grief work is perpetual. Forever and ever and ever, amen. All I can hope is that I can improve the ways I deal with the unexpected reminders of loss. Mostly I pray I can be all my kids need me to be. Whenever I fall short, I hope they learn forgiveness in ways they wouldn’t have before. I want them to know how much I desire to be awesome for them. I want them to know I’m doing my best, even though my best is pretty cruddy sometimes.
I want them to know how very much I love them. If I talk about their Dad too much or not enough, I’m sorry. If I cry too much or yell too much, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never done this before!
I want them to know this is not what I wanted for them. This is not what their Dad and I envisioned when we started our family. But together, with God’s help, we are going to make it. There will be days that are ugly. Those days require soooo much extra grace. They require forgiveness and extra love. I’m working on giving these things to myself, too.
I don’t like writing posts like this one. I much prefer to bring you the kind of honesty dripping with hope and encouragement. When I started writing, I wanted to be a straightforward voice on grief. I guess being truly authentic means I share the ugly days with you as well as the days that feel full of hope and inspiration. I do this not because it’s fun to portray a weak and broken me, but because if there’s someone out there feeling similar – I want you to know you aren’t alone!
There are better days ahead, I am positive of this. We are going to keep practicing our grief-handling skills with each passing hour, day, week and year. It will not keep us from joy. It will NOT! We are going to figure this out. And we aren’t going to do this alone. We have one another, brothers and sisters walking the same road. More importantly, we have a God who cares. He’s in this boat with us. We are NOT alone and we are doing our best.
Extra grace,
Jodi
P.S. – If you have lost a spouse, you are welcome to join us in the private Facebook group called “The Widow Army.” It is a private space for encouragement and understanding. It’s a safe place where you’ll find people who celebrate your victories with you and support for the bad days.
P.S.S. – (Is P.S.S. a real thing?) – Extra Grace Required is on Facebook. Please make sure you “Like” AND “Follow” the page. Most importantly, please share the page with anyone in need of this community.
P.S.S.S – (I mean, since I’m making up these acronyms now) – If you are looking for a way to brighten someone’s day with a gift that provides comfort, hope & encouragement, please consider The Extra Grace Box. I offer affordable, seasonal gift boxes designed to remind someone how much they are loved and that they are not alone during difficult seasons of their life. The winter box is available right now at ExtraGraceBox.com
I too, feel grief is perpetual. Almost 3 years in, I think I’m finally not always in a fog. So many unfamiliar things to learn, I protest as this was not supposed to be my job!
My dear daughter, you are a wonderful Mother❣️ Not every day are any of us at our best, but with God’s Love, we will all find a way‼️
I hear your pain and, for me, it was six years in January that I lost my beloved husband. Yes, I
believe you change as a person after your loss. Not sure you are ever the same as before.
However, I will say, I am stronger as a person because I have to be. It doesn’t lessen the fact that I still go to bed alone at night and no one to talk to in the evening. And, the same in the morning, I wake up alone and do not have anyone to talk to. Guess one gets use to it. I feel I am still the good mother to my kids as I have been. You should pat yourself on the back for being a good mother to your kids. God bless you and your family.
I too wonder if I will always grieve over my daughter’s death. It has been three and four months. I feel especially bad for our granddaughter, who is seven and without a mother. I feel like most of the time I grieve for her loss of a mother. Will I always feel like this?…
As always, your posts are both touching and comforting. I think I can speak for many and say that we can relate to all the emotions and experiences you document and describe. I’m 2 years into this; each month, each year is different. My heart has grown around the wound. Like a tree growing around a cut in its bark. But it will always be there. Some people think I’m ‘healed’. They say hurtful things that touch the wound. I have to forgive them and move on. Many do not understand the pain and I don’t wish it upon them. But alas, it’s been a gift to me in many ways….it’s allowed me to feel and see better. To appreciate life more. And to live a life that’s more full, more adventurous, more aware. I never want to fully heal that wound. It’s made me a better person. Or at least, that’s my wish for myself. Thank you for allowing us to join you on your journey.
Jodi, your post touched me for many reasons. I totally understand what you are saying about your kids “forgetting” their, but you won’t let that happen! I too hate that my kids, who were in their early to mid 20’s when their dad passed, experience the “joys” of adulthood without him. College/grad school graduation, starting a business and buying a house all come to mind. It just happens and yes, it makes me sad because I’m not equipped to give them advice. But we will persevere and get through it.
Also, I had a complete, out of the blue melt down a few weeks ago. Like you, I am almost 4 years in and felt like I was actually doing pretty good! New house, new city, lots of new friends and an active social life. Then one Saturday, I heard a song and it totally sent me over the edge. (I HAD to skip my workout class because I know I couldn’t get through it without crying like a baby) I literally spent the day on the couch crying. (never done that before) The next day, I found an article on Facebook about this very thing… It’s called a STUG. Sudden Temporary Upsurge of Grief. It was so insightful and made me realize that it’s totally normal and expected. It made me feel better to have a name for this… if /when it happens again, I know what to call it!