remembering-lisa

[remembering-lisa]

Sometimes I still have to catch my breath. I’ll have a rush of deep grief - even momentary - but it literally takes my breath away. It can be triggered by a song, a love story captured on social media, an old couple walking past…

And then the wave hits and I take a deep breath, settle my heart back down, and take it in.

That’s how grief is. Now it’s been 2 years, 2 months and 9 days, and I’m generally okay. But it still can hit hard. Tonight I saw a beautiful video of a young couple in a surprise photo shoot. And the wave hit. I remember when Lisa and I as a young couple would get our pictures taken. Beautiful memories, and I miss her.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”

[remembering-lisa]

Christmas 2023. It was so good to have all the kids home. We laughed, we celebrated, we played, we remembered Mom, we cried.

Then on what would have been our 38th anniversary on Dec. 28th, Annie and I and JJ took a little hike up to Cora Lake. It was beautiful.

I missed her terribly over the holidays, but the days were still beautiful and sacred.

[remembering-lisa]

Yesterday I told Annie that I didn’t want her and the boys to worry about me being alone as I grow older. I’ll always be sad that I didn’t get the chance to grow old with Lisa, to share in the joy of our kids and grandkids, to travel, to take long walks together… But I’m not afraid to be alone, and I’ll be okay alone. I don’t want to be a hermit, and I want to stay active, but I’m okay growing old alone. I’ll have my kids. I’ll stay involved in the church and community. It’s just different than I imagined it would be.

Joys are still not as joyful. Life still doesn’t have the same color - everything seems subdued. The laughter isn’t as hearty and the fun isn’t as fun. But I’m gonna be okay.

Advent is this time of sitting in the darkness and anticipating the light. It seems appropriate. Hope is both here and coming. Life is both here and still to be realized. This darkness I sit in tonight will turn to a new day with new possibilities. One day at a time, but with hope.

[remembering-lisa]

[remembering-lisa]

Thanksgiving 2023

We are now into the 2nd holiday season without Lisa. John & Michelle and Annie and John were here. Bob & Andy were with Andy’s family and we missed them. We made all of the food we have always made at Thanksgiving using Lisa’s recipes - green bean casserole, broccoli salad, mashed potatoes, jello salad, & apple pie. I set a place for her - it just seemed like the right thing to do. I want to remember and think about her on days like this. I missed her terribly, and though it was a good day, it won’t ever be the same. I think I am at peace with that but there is certainly an abiding void. Still, there is so much to be thankful for, and I am anticipating a sacred Advent and Christmas season, and we will remember Lisa through these days as we continue to forge the path ahead.

Tomorrow we’ll get our Christmas tree and decorate. Lisa will be with us, reminding us of the “right” kind of tree to get and making sure the lights on the tree are in balance. And maybe we’ll make some of her cookies.

[remembering-lisa]

20 months

It’s weird that I now have friends that I’ve made who have never known Lisa. It feels like they only know part of me, and I find myself wanting them to know her, but they will never meet her. Life moves on too quickly.

I went to Switzerland and it was the trip of a lifetime - I loved it. But so many times I wished so much that Lisa could have been there. But this was my trip and she would have seen it that way - a place of my choosing. But I wish I could have shared it with her.

I sold Lisa’s car this week. I didn’t expect it to be so difficult watching it drive away, but all of these things are reminders both of times together, and of how everything has changed.

I think I’m doing well. I am finding joy. Annie & John have moved in and I love having them here, even if only for a few months. The noise, the activity, meals together, laughter, walks…it is good.

[remembering-lisa]

Hard

Today was a hard day. There is no clear reason. I just miss Lisa terribly today and have felt a little lost. It has been almost 17 months since I lost her, and you create expectations in your mind about how you should feel, what you should say, what you should do "by now." But some days are just really hard. Often it is hardest coming off of a holiday or a time when family has been together. Those times are a treasure, but when they are over the emptiness is a stark reminder of the loss. I know that tomorrow will be better. But in the morning I will wrestle with the fact that I even wrote this tonight. I will consider deleting it because I don't want to be a downer. But this is the battle with grief. It wrestles with the tension between authenticity and faith, between reality and hope, between "people need to hear this" and "nobody wants to hear this." Cory Asbury's song "Kind" comes out tomorrow. It is a modern day psalm and it echoes the reality of life's pain and the steadfastness of Jesus' kindness. It will be a welcome Psalm. Because through it all, Jesus is always kind.

[remembering-lisa]

Happy birthday.

I love that we have so many beautiful memories together, but I really hate that we have no new pictures together. I miss you every day Lis. I know you’re doing great, but I hope in some way you can hear me say that I love you, miss you, and wish I could be with you to celebrate your birthday today. I’ll put the banner up for you and get you a refresher from Starbucks. They don’t have the cool lime anymore but I think you’d like the paradise refresher! Happy birthday - I love you! ❤️

[remembering-lisa]

See’s Candy.

Lisa loved the box of “Nuts & Chews” from See’s Candy. Last weekend I traveled to California. On my trip back there was a See’s Candy stand in the airport. It’s been nearly 14 months since I lost Lisa. Still, when I saw the stand, for a brief moment I thought, “I should get a box of Nuts & Chews and bring them home to Lisa.” I still wake up often thinking Lisa will be there. I feel it (not consciously but it is as though my body remembers) when we are approaching a special place or occasion. Long love is like muscle memory. If you have shared life and loved one another consistently over a long period of time, it is like second nature. I remember when a friend of mine lost a part of his leg. He had a prosthetic but he could still sometimes feel pain or itching in his foot that was no longer there because the nerve endings remembered. It is called “Phantom pain.” Loss can feel that way.

I have also now come to realize that some of the most difficult days are coming home after a trip. Again, this isn’t conscious necessarily, but I think my body and soul recognize the absence and then my mind and spirit feel the ache more particularly.

Thankfully Spring is here. There is something about new life emerging from dormant places that always lifts my spirit.

[remembering-lisa]

Irrational compulsions

There are things Lisa and I did and places Lisa and I went that became uniquely special to us. We did them together, and even the thought of those places brings back beautiful memories that carry the ache of loss with them. You would think that those would be places and experiences that a grieving person would avoid. Why would you subject yourself to that kind of emotional turmoil? Because there is something about grief that calls you to lean in to those memories and emotions. You feel beckoned to go to the places where there were meaningful experiences, knowing that it will be a difficult, painful and emotional visit. But there is something about place and presence that takes you deeper than memory can.

Tonight was one of those nights. Over the last 10 or so years, Lisa and I loved to go dancing. On Tuesday nights we would learn two-step dancing and on Thursday nights we would learn line dances at Steel Creek - a country bar. We met people there who became friends and this became a regular date for us. Over the last several weeks I have felt compelled to go back to Steel Creek. Tonight I had an unexpected free night and it was a Thursday. So I headed to Steel Creek. I arrived about 15 minutes before the dance lesson was to start. I said hello to our dance instructor whom I hadn't seen for a couple of years and I told him about Lisa. He was sad and surprised and offered condolences. I saw people that we had met over the years. I watched people dance to songs that we had learned the dances to. The last song before the dance lesson began was "Toes" by Zac Brown Band. Lisa knew and loved that dance but I could never remember it, so I would always love to watch her dance to "Toes" and I would clap as she left the dance floor.

The dance lesson was starting and I had my wrist band, but I realized with great clarity that it wasn't dancing at Steel Creek that I missed, it was dancing at Steel Creek with Lisa that I missed. So I slipped out and went home. That 15 minutes was enough to remember those precious times together, to feel it, and to lean in to the fact that I miss her so.

[remembering-lisa]

11 Months

Today, January 15, 2023 is 11 months since I lost Lisa. I still miss her every day, and she continues to be on my mind throughout the day. I still sometimes think about calling her to let her know I'm going to be late, or I wake up and for an instant think she's there. And while I still feel all of the emotions, I seem to be able to manage them better. But in some ways they feel lonelier. The further it gets away from losing her, while it is still at the forefront of my mind and that of my kids, I know, understandably, it isn't at the forefront of others' minds. But this month the memories from a year ago are of the struggle she faced and her battle in those last weeks. They are hard memories. I try to put those things out of my mind and think about happier and healthier times, of which there are a lifetime, but they can't be erased. I find that I just want to get through January and February.

People move forward with their lives, as I must as well. But it won't be without Lisa. She will always be at the forefront of my mind. I thought we would grow old together, retire, travel, walk, watch hospital dramas and Hallmark movies and maybe even spoil our grandkids. I see elderly couples walking together and there's always a tinge of ache that we won't get to do that. I'll be okay to grow old alone, but I won't be alone. I have Jesus, I'll have the kids, and I'll stay busy and active, but it just isn't what I expected.

I do trust the Lord in all of this. I don't know what the future will look like, and it will be different than I imagined, but her memory will remain. Each morning when I make the bed in her particular way, or fold the towels, or put the dishes away in just the right spot, or look for the "Jesus loves me" parking spot - she will be there. And I'm enjoying my job, my master's program, and planning financially for the future. There are good days ahead and Jesus has more for me and the kids - I do know that. But thinking too far ahead is hard too, so again, it is good to take it one day at a time.

[remembering-lisa]

Holy Days

It was a beautiful day. We chose December 28 because it was after Christmas but would still have the Christmas vibe. Our colors were red and black, the church was still festive with Christmas decorations, our family was all there - part of the celebration as well of hundreds of friends. Debi did the beautiful flowers, Gary & Patty sang, family and close friends were in the wedding party, the church provided the reception, and we went to Disneyland for our honeymoon. 37 years ago today. It was a holy day. And often on this day we would be somewhere - Seaside or Depoe Bay, Leavenworth - some little 2 night trip, or we would go out to dinner and maybe go dancing. Those were holy days too.

Today I visited Lisa's graveside and remembered. I brought her flowers and her favorite Starbucks drink. I know that doesn't make any sense but it felt like the right thing to do, and what really makes sense? Tonight I will go out to dinner with my kids and their spouses and we will remember. This is a hard day, but it is still a holy day.

This is also the day that Bonnie died 4 years ago, and it is the day that Lisa first found out she had cancer. So today I also remember Lisa's mom. It will be a hard day for Tana & Todd as they remember their mom while they care for Al, who remembers his wife too. I'll visit Al today and we'll remember. In this, it will be a holy day.

We have made it through Thanksgiving, Advent and Christmas. They were beautiful and terrible, but we took in all of the moments and found the opportunities to reflect, to love and support each other, and to remember. I'm so grateful to have my kids near. These too were holy days.

Today we will each write a short note of a memory we love about Lisa and a significant happening in our life over the last year and we will put it in Lisa's Christmas stocking. We will do this each year so as I put up her stocking we will have these memories.

I'm thankful God is in all of this with us, so that even the hard days can still be holy days.

[remembering-lisa]

[remembering-lisa]

Secrets

Sometimes I learn things that I can’t share with anybody. Often these are things that I may ultimately have some responsibility for, but I have to hold in confidence.

But often I could talk about these things with Lisa. She could help me process it, and she always seemed to have such wisdom.

[remembering-lisa]

Today is 8 months. Today a fellow student in my masters class asked me “what was your wife like?” I appreciated that question so much, but I could hardly get through the answer. Lisa was beauty, grace, discipline and determination. She was a true partner who pushed me to be better. She loved to test the boundaries and push the envelope. She fiercely loved and championed our kids and knew so well how to make each of them feel heard and celebrated. She loved Jesus and she kept learning and growing. She could laugh, get so excited, and be so competitive! She was unbelievably persuasive. She loved to shop, stayed up on the trends, and always - no matter what - seemed to be put together. She loved road trips, dancing, country music and jalapeño margaritas. She didn’t like religious people, fake spirituality and extra-biblical expectations. She loved her friends and made the wild ones feel welcome. She worked hard and played hard. And she loved me too. 8 months. I can hardly believe it. But all the memories are good memories and that is a gift.

[remembering-lisa]

I miss Lisa. I miss hanging out or going out on Friday nights whether to dinner and dancing or to Costco. I miss the way she laughed, her frustrated groan, or her way-over-the-top excitement about a gadget she discovered on an Instagram ad. I miss her drop-everything attention she gave our kids and her keen suspicion about things that usually turned out to be accurate. I miss the smell of her hair when I kissed her forehead.

There’s a delicate line between grief and self-pity. And it is ever before me.

But today it isn’t that I am lonely. And today I am not without gratitude that all my memories are good memories. I just miss Lisa.

[remembering-lisa]

Solitude.

Getting up in the beauty of the woods and away from people has always been an opportunity to restore my soul. But I began to recognize solitude, stillness and silence as a spiritual practice about 20 years ago. Since Lisa died, I am obviously alone far more often now. And I have realized to a much greater degree that being alone is far different than solitude; quiet is far different than silence; and inactivity is far different than stillness. In the busy-ness and at times difficulty of my life when I had the kids and Lisa in my home I felt an urgency to get away and find solitude. Now that Lisa is gone and my kids are on their own, I am still busy, and there is still difficulty. But now I am realizing that though being alone and quiet are at times unwelcome companions, solitude and silence are just as much a needed intentionality even more than an urgency.