In years past, I could count on my hand the number of times I would drop something over the course of a year. Now, each week, I drop a lot of things - a dish, clothes, food, whatever - sometimes five times or more a week. I haven't destroyed anything big yet, but a homemade artisan pizza I made last week hit the floor. After my expletive, I managed to laugh. My new clumsiness is one of the "little things" I've noticed that's different now.
Many times this fall, I've been told I need to allow people to help me manage the balance I used to have in my life. If only it were that simple. We do have a nanny, which is helpful, and my family is stepping up as well. When there are two parents, it's not too hard to handle the unexpected occurrences. When there's only one, however, it means stopping everything else you're doing and making a flurry of phone calls. It happens often. Managing chaos is a recurring part of life, like it or not. I'm working on welcoming it, though some days it just ain't easy.
The grief process, for the children and me, is about as intense as it's been. Dori's absence is felt every day, sometimes in pulses and sometimes in giant waves. I didn't fully understand her greatness until she was sick. I didn't revere it until she was gone. Her grace and understanding were immeasurable. I think the kids feel the same way.
It's funny. For the most part, the phone calls to help have stopped. Friends, mine and Dori's, don't check in as often. All of that is perfectly OK because fielding those kind calls took time; there's really not much anyone can do, anyway.
I think about Dori more than ever, sometimes constantly, now that some of the shock has subsided. Even though I still have my kids, my job and my health, at times I feel like I'm only half here. I don't have the conversation I loved, the hugs that made my day and the smile that told me everything was going to be alright.
My outlook remains positive, but my soul continues to ache. I want her back, which can't happen. It's a trap I must evade, knowing she's in His hands and I better do my best to earn the right to join her. How's that for frank blogging?
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7 comments:
Jim, touching and beautifully written. The clumsiness is, I think, a lack of focus on the moment--not too surprising when you think about all the thoughts and emotions whirling around in your mind.
Jim, thank you for the honesty. I agree with PJ on all points.
Thank you for that beautiful, and heart-wrenching, post. As for what you said about not understanding her greatness until she was sick, I hope you aren't beating yourself up about that. From what you wrote during the time she was well, it sounded as though you totally did appreciate everything about her.
Thank you for your honesty. You, Kathryn, and Will are in my thoughts and prayers everyday.
There's not a pat answer or solution... Just know that so many are lifting you all up in prayer...
Keep posting Jim. And keep running.
Kathryn and Will, if your heart feels heavy, know that your mom is close by.
A mom never really goes far away.
She is woven in your heart.
When your heart is cumbersome know that she is with you.
Jim, she has captured your heart as well.
The first Christmas season after Joel's mom died I lost count of the number of things I broke. A coffee pot, several bowls, a Christmas platter . . . on and on. So much emotion swirling around every event and trying not to be overwhelmed by grief was - well it was hard and I wasn't always successful. This is a wonderful post. Please know that you guys continue to be in our prayers.
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