I never meant to neglect this space. I just seem to have lost the ability to put my words down in a way that would be easily understood.
Here we are though, and here I am. Thank you for being here still.
ONE YEAR- The last of the firsts.
Our lives have so many firsts that we cherish, our first kiss, our first car, our first child etc. This year, every first seemed like an axe chopping away any possible remaining part of my heart.
The last 365 firsts. First Thanksgiving, first Christmas, every friggen day was a new first. I am so glad that I am beyond the firsts. That I have braved this portion of the storm and am still here, talking.
I have worked to find normalcy. To accept what is and to move forward. By nature, I am happy go lucky and typically a positive person. I put my head down and plow through things that seem difficult. I just get through things. It is what I do.
This has completely devastated me. I thought about changing that sentence to make it more comfortable for my family and friends that are reading this. But, there is no sugar coating the condition of my heart that was ravaged by this.
When Michael died, a part of me died too. In the beginning, a part of me wished that it was me, not him. Now before you start saying, how could you say that Wendy you have amazing children- and that is why it was only part of me that felt that way. The part of me that didn’t want to walk through the nightmare that I was now walking through. My children remain the best part of my life before all of this, through all of this and after all of this.
I spent the first couple months trying to busy myself. Hurry up, help others Wendy. Get back to your routine Wendy. Work Wendy. DO more Wendy. Distract distract ….
Exhaustion. I began checking out. Looking back I should have known the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” trick was NOT going to work. Check out some more. Completely flake out on most things. My only constant was showing up at work and that was about it.
You all saw the public me. The one that shared just a little but the real battle that I was fighting was kept tucked away from nearly everyone. I have always prided myself on being strong and being positive. People were still needing me to help them. I still wanted to be that Wendy.
Anger. Anger is a funny thing. Who was I angry at? Sure I found people to pass it off on, Like his “Friends” that left him and didn’t bother to even show their respects- not that I would have received them too kindly. Maybe the guys who had the house he was found in. I even tried to be mad at Michael as a way to distance myself from the pain. How could he be so reckless with our lives? Why was it fair that I have to see his poor Mom and daughter suffer. Why? Is this my fault? I should have done more. I should have picked him up. I …. I… Wait. there is a pattern here. I have already been through enough. I have already gone through heartache and…
God. It has to be God. So there I was shaking my fist at God. Knowing full well He could take it. I wanted so desperately to be like Job and just tear my robe and shave my head and get to the prayer part later. But instead I 2018 it and shaved the side of my hair (because I still need to be cute in case I was in the stage where I wanted to seem normal to the world) and I bought new clothes because I gained weight because donuts and sugar are better than choke slamming people when they tell me to embrace that which is now and my new fucking normal that I didn’t ask for. As for prayer? Ha. I could barely stand to look at my bible now collecting dust on my stand. Great Comforter? My Shield? My Ezer? Where was that God? And to be clear, yes I did just use Job as my example and swear in the same exact paragraph. This is an accurate description of where I was though, and I am a bit hood- but you already know.
And then I had a dream. Almost every night I had a dream with Michael in it. Telling me he was fine. All the things that should make me feel peace and happy and joyous. Rolling my eyes. I found only a little comfort in this. Until I had a dream with God and Michael. I say God, but I guess its what I envision God to be. He was bright light and just this big presence and there was Michael next to him. God said to me, you are so focused on your loss you aren’t seeing Michael’s gain. You aren’t seeing or even trying to see why I will use this for your gain. Awesome right? I’ve heard promoted through pain before but I definitely did not want to be the example of that. Its all fun and games to talk the big talk of this faith so mighty… and believing God and praising him in this storm. Its quite different when the storm you meant is like a rain storm that messes up your hair vs a CAT 5 hurricane followed by a EF5 tornado, where there is just total devastation, or so it seems.
Well wait just a minute Wendy, (I apparently like talking in the third person today). Aren’t you the one always saying “I just want my mess to be my message” , hope blah blah blah- walk me out into the waters the great unknown where feet can fail me? the whole thing? or are those just feel good give me goosebumps songs you sing and words you say that have no real meaning when the ish hits the fan???
The answer is yes most days that is still true….but
I am still working it all out. There are days when my bitterness flows tremendously but not too long, because listen friends, your girl knows how to put her life in perspective and herself in check. Like remembering those lost on this very same day in 2001. We all are going to lose someone we love someday. How we deal with life post that loss is the question. BUT DO NOT GET IT TWISTED, I love me some Jesus. I will rep that King all day everyday… because even on my worst days I still know He is with me…
I guess it all comes down to choices.
This year my faith has been put to the test and I am still gasping for air some days… and other days I am on mountaintops shouting for joy. The valleys in this life are hard, that I know for sure… but I guess it is a good thing that hiking is still one of my most favorite things.
A special thanks to my daughter and my sons who love on their Momma except when I am being the worst Momma ever and take away the internet at bedtime (ahem Xander). Thank you Jane and Paul for letting me stay in your lives. And to beautiful Lexi… I hope you will always will know that your Dad loved you more than he would have ever been able to put in words… You were his most precious, cherished love in his life. He was always so proud of you. And thank you for letting me stay in your life too. I love you Lexi. ❤