Talking to my church family. in QUOTIDIEN

I rewrote this entry (originally posted a few days back…and now removed) so that rather than leaving my church family, I could give them an update, letting them know where I am in this grieving process. It was well received.

The six month mark has come and gone, as has David’s 53rd birthday. The anticipation of these milestones were, as with many of the newer ones, far worse than the actual days. We are, though bruised and battered from our on-going journey, moving forward with the grace I’d hoped and prayed for. Slowly but surely, we are all healing.

For these past six months, you have all been our support, our prayer warriors, and our confidants. You have all been ready with a mower, a hammer and nail, muscles, a shoulder, welcoming arms, un-ending prayers, and financial support. God has truly been good to us by sending along all those who could stand in His stead - with skin on. Around us, you’ve built this sort of human scaffolding, holding us up during a time when standing on our own seemed impossible.

I want you to know that I am no longer the person you carefully protected in the infancy of my grief. Behind the shield of your love, I’ve done the work of digging through my memories, carefully protecting the most precious, and cleaning out the cobwebs. In doing so, I’ve rediscovered parts of me that have lain dormant for decades. I’ve shed shame, chronic illness, and weight. I’ve become empowered by the recognition and acceptance of my own strength, and I am becoming increasingly comfortable in my own skin. I am bolder, I smile more, I shine deeper in and farther out. I am loving this wholeness - this opportunity to be fully ME, and I am celebrating. In fact, God has given me, even from the moment I learned of David’s death, reason to praise Him. His joy has walked side-by-side with my grief - His constant arm to keep me steady.

There are times when I will shed a tear at a touching song or an exquisitely expressed spiritual concept that resonates with me, and sometimes my tears are based in grief. My greatest sorrow is in the absence of the casual intimacy Dave and I shared: My hand on his shoulder, his arm around mine. If you’ve seen David and me together, you know what I’m talking about. In those times, hugs are a stark reminder of what I miss the very most - and those hugs can be painful.

I love hugs and I don’t want to lose them all, but I’m asking that you look for the smile before you do. And if I leave the classroom or sanctuary, please know that I am okay. If I am in a bad place, and need help - despite my crippling shyness, I promise I will come to you.

I also wanted you to know that by the grace of God, I am whole, and ready to celebrate this amazing gift He has given me. I am not seeking to escape from my grief or from Dave’s memory, but to embrace my future as me - the ‘whole’ me - and devote as much of me as possible, to raising Anne-Marie.

More than anything, know that I appreciate all that you have done for us, and all that you continue to do.