Working It Through

Michael,

Well, we made it to April. Nine months and counting.

I haven't written for a while; I've been quite occupied these last few months in efforts to navigate myself through some uncharted ground. While every step of life since your death has been uncharted, I think the last few months have felt more "uncharted" than ever. It's been a time of great contemplation for me. The book I'm reading explains my thoughts well when it says:

"One of the things that happens when the whole structure of your life falls apart is that you start wondering what you're supposed to be doing here. When it becomes clear to you that the purpose of life isn't for you to be perpetually happy, then you have to ask, 'If not that, what?' I've given a lot of thought to this, and I think our purpose here on earth is to get organized. To organize ourselves to do something. Everything, if you look at everything, if you look at the universe, and especially astronomically, all of the processes that are going on are organizing themselves toward some end, and then that isn't the end. Like a star. It is formed out of moving clouds that swirl into a center, and it becomes a star. Then it explodes and becomes a black hole and then absorbs everything. But then it turns into something else. Things constantly organize themselves toward an end, but it's not the end; it's the start of something. And to whatever end our process is, our purpose on earth is to be a part of that. I think, when we finally get down to it, what we are supposed to be doing is just being here, being who we are."

So yes...Just as it says, I've been thinking more seriously about God's purposes....and my own purpose in this life. And just as it says, my efforts have been to get myself and my thoughts more organized. I'm trying harder to understand the concept I just quoted--That we organize ourselves to do something (like establish a marriage and family), but then for whatever reason it ends. But this "end" isn't really the end...it's the "start of something"...it's the evolving process that continually begins and ends. My favorite part of the quote above is when it says, "I think when we finally get down to it, what we are supposed to be doing is just being here, being who we are." That really speaks to me because at the end of the day, that really is all I can do.
Who I am...my identity, my character, my inner voice...it's evolving. It seems to be evolving at a much greater speed as of late. One thing I do know, however, is that you, my Michael, will always be a part of who I am.

The experiences I've had lately attest to that. Wherever I go, you are with me. As the cliche goes, you are with me in my "heart, mind, and soul."

St. Patrick's Day...the day we were engaged...This year the day came and went but I thought of you the entire day. I have a wonderful memory of you proposing to me, and of celebrating each St. Patrick's Day thereafter.
I'm not sure I've written about the day we were engaged. You had the ring sitting by a teddy bear that I still have sitting on my nightstand. You proposed to me in your house...our house. You were my little leprachaun. It was from that day on that you gave yourself to me wholeheartedly. You never looked back. You loved, accepted, and committed yourself to us. I was so grateful to find a guy who would do that for me.

This last month, I got around to buying myself a new car. You and I agreed that in the Spring of 2011 we'd upgrade the vehicle, so I moved forward as planned. It made sense and felt like a good thing to do. It ended up being a little more of an ordeal than I anticipated. My initial effort to find the right car proved arbitrary compared to the effort it became. It felt silly and totally ridiculous when I found myself getting frustrated over the fact that no car seemed right for me to buy. What I initially thought I wanted just didn't fit me anymore as a widow. So what did? As stupid as this sounds, this car search resulted in another reminder of the fact that I have a new identity, and it's becoming more and more necessary to start uncovering whomever it is I now am.
I found a good car and I'm happy with it. It was one step in finding my new self, so to speak. The self that is still very much evolving, but is however, much different than I was nine months ago.

So anyway, yes, you are with me always. When I take care of Andi, when I do my part-time jobs, when I do church stuff, when I'm with family and friends. When I go to school. When I lay in bed at night and look at the picture of us on my nightstand. When I cook your favorite foods, when I run, when I sit at your gravesite.

Andi caught pneumonia this week. It became one sleepless night after another before I finally took her to the doctor. Sure enough she has pneumonia. How glad I was when I listened to the voice inside of me to take her in. How glad I was to have my family's help. They are so awesome. Truly my angels.
It was, of course, another deep reminder of your absence as I sat up with her night after night. I probably could have benefited in having someone to "spell" me off for a while. And I probably could have appreciated you running to the store for o.j. or popsicles or more medicine. And I most certainly needed you to help me evaluate her condition as time went on. But you know what? Your voice was in my head the whole time. You were there. You were helping. And I am so grateful for that. I'm developing a greater appreciation for all the single moms out there who truly are alone. Even though you aren't here, you still are. So grateful.

During this week-long episode of sleepless nights and constant concern for Andi, I noticed something. I didn't stop and ask you why you weren't here. I just did it. As I look back at it, I can't help but think that this reality of widowhood is actually starting to become an accepted reality. That isn't to say I don't have moments when I still have to stop and remind myself that you're gone. I think I'll be like that for a very long time. But I count this as one step of progress. My subconscious is at least beginning to accept your death.

I went to a Widows Conference a few weeks ago and felt a major uplift by going. It's so nice being in a place where everybody understands you. You don't feel out of place or alone or labeled. I think one of my favorite parts was going to the classes....one was titled, "Single Parenting," one was "Where Do I Go From Here?" and one was on personal revelation. Just interesting to hear dialogue about the things that circle in and out of my mind every day.

Andi's doing well, besides the fact that she got this terrible sickness. She makes me laugh every day. Lately when I find myself singing a tune or singing to her (as you know I do), she'll say to me, "Mom, no.....SHHHHHHH...Harry's sleeping." I can't ever sing to her because Harry's "sleeping." Rude.
She loves to be a "silly sister" as we call it in the Luke family, and as you can see in this funny pic:

She loves to be hugged and kissed and loved. She loves reading books on the bed at night. I've read her favorite Strawberry Shortcake books to her over and over and over again. Or her Berenstein Bear book called The Berenstein Bears Go to the Doctor.--She was especially interested in that because of all the doctors visits she and I have had lately.

When we got our new car she cried and cried that she couldn't get in "Mommy's car." It took her a while to adjust.

This week we've been dog sitting for our neighbors. I now have the pit-patter of two dogs' feet running by my side wherever I go. And now when Andi gets up in the morning, instead of saying, "Where's Harry?" she says, "Where's Chester?" Check out the cute bonding moment between her and Chester last night:


You can see in this picture how she's been feeling lately. Poor girl.

When I'm getting ready each morning, she still does the same thing she did to you--She knocks on the bathroom door or closet door or whatever until I "answer." Then she waits for me to say, "Hi, how are you? Come on in!" And then she'll visit for a minute before she goes out again and knocks on the door. Then we go through the process all over again. Sometimes instead of knocking she'll "ring the doorbell."
Pretty cute.

We had a birthday party for Harry. It was five years ago when we picked him up from the Phoenix airport and brought him home as our own. Can you believe it? We had all the kids over to help celebrate his birthday. I love doting over Harry...Everyone else thinks I've got a screw loose but it's just one of those little pleasures in life for me. You got that about me and never made fun.













Anyhow, I want to write a little more about this book I'm reading. It talks a lot about the different phases you go through in grief. In one chapter it discusses a phase of grief entitled, "Observation"--Something I feel I've been experiencing a lot lately. It says, "If anything, this cluster of experiences you're having is worse than the initial experience of loss. It is as such now that you cannot avoid the knowledge that all there is to do is to make a new and different shape for your life. At the beginning, you have no idea how extensive and deep are the patterns: How much milk you buy at the store; what you schedule to do after work; how many holiday cards you order; how the income tax is handled; what you do on birthdays and anniversaries. There's no one to call out 'I'll get it' when the telphone rings and nobody to help bring in the groceries. As each week and month passes, you see new ways in which your life has been affected. You come to understand that this loss cannot be compensated for. It is irreversible. You realize that you are ultimately helpless in how things go in the universe." And then the author says, "We cannot escape from this distress by adopting new purposes because purposes are learned and consolidated through a lifetime's experiences."
I must include that last sentence because these last few months are as it says: it truly has been a time of distress for me. I'm beginning to rebuild, but not knowing quite where or how to start. And I'm attempting to rebuild in between shots of immutable pain.
Sounds terribly cynical, I know. I just feel it's important for me to be honest about this process I'm going through.
On a lighter note, another quote from this book about grieving says, "There is much trial and error, much scratchy unsettledness as we engage with the conflicts. We 'proceed by tentative approximations'; we are not only solving problems and working out issues during this period but we are also altering ourselves. We are being changed by the experiences: to become more independent, more cdompetent, more knowing; to realize more fully our potential, to become more our true self."

That concept of "true self" has been on my mind so much lately. I know this trial is a central experience I will have in that continual process of being and becoming my "true self."

Since I'm on a quote kick, I have to write down something a friend wrote to me in a letter. She told me of a time in our nation's history when Samuel Adams gave a speech to Congress in the fall of 1778. The British were winning the war of independence and they had just forced the fledgling congress from Philadelphia. They were bleak times. And as the congress discussed the hopelessness they felt, Adams spoke:

"Though fortune has been unpropitious, our condition is not desperate. Our burdens, though grievous, can be borne. Our losses, though great, can be retrieved. Through the darkness which shrouds our prospects, the ark of safety is visible. Despondency becomes not the dignity of our cause, nor the character of those who are its supporters. Let us awaken then, and evince a different spirit--a spirit that shall inspire the people with confidence in themselves and in us--a spirit that will encourage them to persevere in this glorious struggle, until their rights and liberties shall be established on a rock! We have appealed to Heaven for the justice of our cause, and in Heaven have we placed our trust. Numerous have been the manifestations of God's providence in sustaining us. In the gloomy period of adversity, we have had 'our cloud by day and pillar of fire by night.' We have been reduced to distress, and the arm of Omnipotence has raised us up. Let us still rely in humble confidence in Him who is might to save."

I thought that was quite inspiring. It reminded me of going to D.C. with you and learning about our nation's history together. And it inspires me to believe in the spirit of its message. It is indeed true that Providence has sustained and that still I must rely in "humble confidence on Him who is might to save."

And now that I'm done with venting about my own little world, I would love to say, "How are you doing?" "What was your week like?"
I'll keep an ear out just in case you want to tell me.

xoxo