Month: February 2021

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year…it feels like just moments ago we said goodbye.

I still remember vividly the details of your last day. The yellow striped shirt you wore. The smell of your skin. Sitting with you and praying for you alongside a couple of dear friends who held me and you in their hearts.

I remember visiting you in hospice every day. Most days it was sunny but cold as I sat in the reclining chair next to your bed and gazed out into the sunshine and snow. The days were not nearly as cold as this winter has been.

Some days you would talk; most days you would try to rest. You were in a lot of pain, so the nurses did what they could to take care of you so you would be comfortable. (Side note: the nurses and staff were nothing short of amazing. I am beyond grateful for them.) Each day when I visited I mostly would just sit with you, share stories with you, and pray for you. I would then come back later after school and on the weekends with the girls. When we said goodbye each night I always wondered if it would be our last.

I remember the girls bouncing around your hospice room, sitting on your bed, receiving your hugs and love. I remember the girls loving the endless supply of snacks in the hospice kitchen. I remember the drive to and from hospice, the girls wondering if they would get to see a train that day. I remember getting the call from your nurse early that last morning after dropping the girls off at school and rushing to see you. I remember my heart being heavy and aching like it still does today and yet knowing you were going to a place far better, without pain.

I remember wondering how you felt and what you were thinking that day. When I prayed for you, I prayed for you to no longer be in pain, for God to take you into his arms, and for you to find comfort and peace and hope in him. I prayed that you would be reunited with your dad and with so many great and wonderful people whom we remember in our hearts.

I feel tightness in my gut as I remember the crying and heartache when I said goodbye. I remember how it felt to hold you in my arms after you were gone. I remember making phone calls, but they are kind of a blur. I remember just how much it hurt even though I knew it was coming. I didn’t want the truth to be real. I didn’t want it to be this way. I knew this story was already written but I still wanted to rewrite it. Most days I still wish I could rewrite the ending.

Grief is hard and messy. Covid has somehow suspended and extended my grief as I feel like I haven’t fully reentered life as normal. Some days the grief cuts deep. Some moments it comes out of nowhere. And some days I just put one foot in front of the other and keep going.

Some days I don’t feel like I’m doing a great job as a parent. When I said goodbye I told you I would do my best to love and protect our girls. And I am but I still wish you were here. Walking alongside me. My companion, my love, my partner. You were an amazing daddy to our girls. Husband to me. You loved us so well, and we love and miss you so much.

My heart can barely take what this life has thrown at me the past year. The longest, shortest year. The year that dragged on forever and yet somehow I blinked and our children have grown up way too fast, and here we are looking at the way life was a year ago before it turned upside down.

It’s been a year of unfathomable changes and anxiety and grief unlike I’ve ever known. It’s been a year of challenges. Of unknowns at every turn. It’s also been a year of hope. A year that, despite the deep ache within me, has brought me closer to God than I thought possible in a time such as this. A year that has taught me what it means to have courage. To put one put in front of the other even when it feels impossible. (Because that’s what courage is in my book.) A year that has shown me that I truly am, by the grace of God, stronger than I think. A year that has provided me deep friendships despite hardly seeing friends in person and instead meeting virtually or talking on the phone. A year that has shown me what grace and kindness look like – from others and toward others and also toward myself.

The longest, shortest year…it’s been a year that has changed me in so many ways that I have yet to know or understand. The ache in me that cries out for you is reminded that when I feel like I don’t have the courage or strength, I do have hope. A hope that doesn’t disappoint. A hope that always perseveres. A hope that holds tight to the truth. A hope that draws from the grace and love of God. From an unfailing love that endures forever.

And for that I am forever grateful.