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When Winter Comes

The other day I was so grumpy. Not just normal mom grumps. I’m talking super emotional, easily irritated, I shouldn’t be around people grumpy. One rotten day turned into several. By the end of the third day I started getting on my own nerves.

Then I remembered. It’s winter. I get this way every winter. Because daddy died in the winter.

It’s normal and acceptable to grieve during holidays, birthdays, or major events. Surprisingly, I do pretty well on those. They have a specific date. I know they are coming and I am able to prepare myself emotionally for the sadness. Seasons don’t arrive that way. They slowly creep in until suddenly I’m in a sour mood and can’t quite put my finger on why. Maybe I should put a reminder in next year’s calendar. “Heads up. It’s almost winter. You aways get in a funk around this time.”

Grief experts say there are stages of grief: shock, denial, bargaining, denial, guilt, anger, sadness/depression, and acceptance/hope. I don’t identify with all these stages. I was never in shock or denial of his passing. We knew going to heaven was an upgrade his body desperately needed. I definitely didn’t try to make any bargains with God. (What would I bargain with anyway?)

But I do feel guilt. Because I didn’t have my children sooner. He jokingly begged me to have babies and I wanted to wait.

I feel anger. Because I wasn’t done making memories and learning everything he knew. And my children won’t grow up knowing the man who taught me everything I know. Holidays meant to bring joy are now marked with a hint of bittersweet because he isn’t here.

Sadness is the hardest stage. Indescribable sadness. My heart misses him so much it actually feels heavy. When my oldest child sees his picture on the staircase she says, “PawPaw” and it pulls the trigger on sadness because she was the only one he ever held.

After daddy’s funeral, a dear friend told me there is no timeline or checklist for grief. This really bothered me because checklists are my fave. I was not prepared for the circle of grief because it never, ever ends. Like a roller coaster that loops and twists, it’s a ride you didn’t ask to be on and can’t ever get off.

There have been a few times my mom has asked me, “Why does it still hurt so much? I thought I would feel better by now.” I tell her we won’t ever totally feel better because we won’t ever stop loving him.

If you are grieving, I’m sorry. I am not an expert on grief by any means, but I will offer some advice:

  • Whatever stage of grief you find yourself in today, fully embrace those feelings. If you want to cry all afternoon, do it. If you’re angry, throw a plate.
  • Don’t fake it. Let the people close to you see your raw emotions. They can listen. (Or buy you more plates.)
  • Keep the memories alive. Look at pictures, watch videos, tell stories. It might feel worse before it feels better, but it will get better.
  • Love the ones who are still around. When you love and serve others, it helps fill some of the void death created.

Where I live, winter isn’t going anywhere for awhile. It’s going to be long and harsh and I cannot wish it away. But spring will come.

Hope will too.

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I Thought You Left

The littles were taking their morning nap. The two big kids were in the playroom actually getting along. I decided to sneak upstairs and grab something quickly. Only the laundry basket on my bed caught my eye and I figured I could put some away before they even noticed I was gone.

Three minutes into folding I heard Neala start to cry. My well trained mama bear hearing started deciphering. “Is she fighting with her brother? Did he whop her with a light saber? Did she fall and get hurt?” She started crying louder and screaming, “Mommy!” “MAH-MEEEEEE! Where are you?” This cry sounded different. There was a shakiness in her voice and a hint of fear.

I hurried downstairs and found her in the living room, crocodile tears shooting out of her eyes.

“I called for you and you didn’t answer. I thought you left me mama.”

Instant mommy guilt. I mean, folded laundry makes a mama feel good. But is not worth scaring the breath out of your child. There was lots of hugs and cuddles and I explained I’d only been upstairs. I assured her I would never leave her alone.

My pastor says God uses the things we can see to help us understand the things we can’t see. I find this to be very true in my life, especially since I became a parent.

Sometimes I feel scared. I call out to God but don’t hear Him respond. Even though I have the promise He will never leave me, there are definitely times He feels far away. Like maybe He’s in the laundry room and can’t hear me.

My feelings are loud. They lie and tell me I am alone. Like my daughter, I get scared and give in to irrational thoughts. My emotions try to overpower what I know to be true. When this happens, I have to be intentional and put my feelings in check. I have to speak the truth to my fears. His silence does not mean He is absent.

When I take the time to be still and quiet my soul, I feel Him near again. His presence whispering to my heart, assuring me He didn’t leave.

Once she stopped crying and her breathing slowed down,  I squeezed her face in my hands and looked into her eyes.
“I love you so much. I will never leave you.”

I imagine God wants to squeeze some of our faces and say the same thing.

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Aside

Should We Pray Louder Mom?

My daughter and I were saying prayers at bedtime. She wasn’t feeling well so we asked God to help her feel better. Seconds later she informed me her belly still hurt followed by, “Maybe He didn’t hear us. Should we pray louder mom?”

I assured her we did not need to pray louder. Whether it’s, a shout, song, or whisper, God hears us every time we pray.

A few years ago I wouldn’t have said this. We had prayed nonstop for daddy to be healed. For the cancer to leave and stay gone. The weeks following his burial I felt more than sadness. I was angry. I was disappointed in God and told him on a regular basis. My feelings were hurt because I had seen Him answer the prayers of others, but didn’t answer mine.

My son Lincoln was born four months after my father died. So in addition to the normal sleep deprivation and exhaustion new mothers face, I found myself trying to sort through the blender of emotions grief brings. Those 3 a.m. feedings were beyond difficult. I would rock him, his head resting under my chin, and my tears would fall on his cheeks. I would talk to him about PawPaw and the great man he was. Then I would pray and ask for one thing:

I asked God to make Lincoln like my daddy.

Lincoln is witty and charming without even trying. His favorite place is anywhere outside and he loves creating. He steals the screwdriver out of the junk drawer on a weekly basis and is always trying to figure out how things work. Lincoln likes everybody, and everybody likes him. 

If you knew my father, you know this means God heard my prayer.

It’s easy to only see unanswered prayers. This never ends well. Discouragement starts to take root, my attitude heads south and I turn into a rotten person. When this happens I try to remember all the times God has answered. I have to be intentional and consistent.

There are days I miss my daddy and my grief tries to turn into bitterness. Days I pray for big needs and things get worse. On those days, I grab Lincoln up in my arms. His deep brown eyes, full of curiosity and mischief. A gentle reminder…God heard me.