I Miss Her Too

My husband has been leaving extra early for work and coming home super late. Yea, not much change for us with this new job. It's left me alone on some long, cold days stuck inside without much to do. My mind wanders and reflects. I listen to music and reminisce. 

Something big happened in my life this summer. I know you know this, but my husband's mother died. Most of the time, that's my perspective. His mom died. But here's the thing about it. She was my mother in law. 

I lost a family member too. One of the biggest influences on my life died. I haven't really been able to own that. 

When I've tried to share my grief, my loss, my husband doesn't hear it. He's a comparer. Not sure if that's a real word, but that's what he does. He compares everything. And when comparing grief, his is greater. It was his mom. So, in his eyes, I have no grief compared to him. 

But I do. 

Don't get me wrong, I can see why he wouldn't think I have reason to grieve. There were times in the last 22 years when we didn't get along. She wasn't nice. I wasn't good enough for her boy. I made mistakes. She didn't like me and let me know it. 

Through all of it, I never disprespected her or treated her in vengeful ways. I never talked down to her and never shared any of my frustration about her with her. I showed her love when it was hard and always respected her role in my husband's life. I never fought her guilt trips with her directly. I won't lie, I fought many fights with my husband. She constantly put me in a position where I had to fight for my marriage. 

Our relationship wasn't easy. What was easy was loving and respecting her for the mother she had been. Not perfect, but she helped form my husband into the man he is. She taught him love and respect. She taught him perserverance and morals. She made sure he had a foundation where you love God and family. 

Before she got sick, I used to send her a thank you card every year on my husband's birthday. I was thankful for her. 

Besides that, she was a role model for me in loving my husband. I watched her love and be by her husband's side faithfully until she got sick. She may have been the first role model in that respect. She taught me a lot too. She was an encourager, especially when she was able to set personally feelings aside. She showed me that if you open your doors, feed your family, they tend to stick together. When she got sick, that stopped and the family fell apart. 

She, even when she didn't like me, was there for me. She helped me with school documents and flat tires and dogsitting. She made sure I was included and always had a place to stay. 

I can't go as far as saying she was like a mother to me. That wouldn't be honest. She was my mother in law. We had an in law type relationship. And that's ok. I believe that's the way it was meant to be for us and it still led to a loving relationship for both of us. 

So, when I start thinking about the holidays and reflecting on the year, I realize how much I miss her. I've missed her for a long time, but this year is harder. 

A couple years ago, Christmas with her was miserable. Her husband wasn't very kind to her. He kept expecting her to k ow who people were and recall info. She hadn't been able to do that for years and it was his denial. She had high anxiety and eventually ran to the other room to finish the day with a blanket over her head. 

Before she took off, she looked at me and thanked me. She said I'm not sure who you are, but thank you for helping me. I knew that year that Christmas would never be the same. I knew she would be so sad at the condition of her mind. 

Honestly, with a holiday and birthday party behind us, I can say that things are much less stressful with her gone. I hate that, but it's truth. 

Regardless, my heart is breaking. I miss her. I miss her so much. You don't have someone in your life for 22 years without some strong attachment. And I've said this before, but having her gone physically is way harder than just having her gone mentally. 

Silent Battle

Do not mistake any of what I am about to say as me being unhappy with being back in KC. I'm not unhappy. But, that isn't necessarily an indication that everything is perfect in life.

As we are deep into the holidays, my husband is completely focused on what he's lost this year. He lives very few moments in the here and now. When he is present, he cannot find anything to be happy about.

I've left him alone. I can't say anything. In his grief, he either dismisses me or tears my head off. It's easier to stay silent. So, silent I stay.

It's a busy season, for everyone but me. I haven't found a social groove yet and of course, there are no holiday gatherings for me with friends or family. Maybe that's ok, I'm not sure I would really want to be around people right now.

While things swirl around me, I'm stuck here fighting my own battles silently. Nobody knows, just me. It's a bit reminiscent of living in Ohio. Plodding through all that's going on in life without anyone to notice or be able to help carry the load.

And it's a heavy one. Outside of the usual holiday stuff and husband thing, I have a short list that feels like a million pounds.

Last week, I finally got the nerve to reach out to a friend with some of it. I was told point blank that she didn't have any place in her life for my stuff and couldn't even say she'd pray for or with me about any of it.

First of all, I sort of appreciate the honesty. However, this person dumps every bit of her life on me. I've never ever said I just didn't want it. She doesn't think twice about dropping dumb drama on me that's completely irrelevant to anything in life, while I'm melting down over my own stuff.

Second, rejection of any kind is the hardest thing for me to overcome. I turn into a brave little girl any time I get the nerve to ask for help. It's a huge thing for me. I rarely had the courage to ask for help when I was child and it takes me back. Then, rejection in any form, it takes me even further back to the times when I did ask for help and was ignored or punished.

So, I pack it all up and put it away again. We aren't talking about little things here. I wish. They are big life things. Things that drive the average person into depression and anxiety.

For now, I put one foot in front of the other and do my best to make it day to day. I pray. I pray for help with these things, knowing that I'm not really at a place to ask for help again. It is a lot like living Ohio. I felt so often that it was just God and I there. Same here at this moment.

It is Christmas time. I'll smile. I'll tell everyone that everything is great. And that will be ok. I'll be celebrating the birth of the savior who came to save me from this temporary earthly pain.

Not My Cross

Today would have been my grandmother's 81st birthday. It seemed like the perfect time to write about something that has been on my heart since this summer.

We learned my grandma was terminally ill with lung cancer on July 22, 1998. My mother-in-law passed away exactly 18 years later, nearly to the hour from that moment.

Even though 18 years had passed, there was so much I remembered as though it had happened yesterday. The emotions, the planning, the pain, it all felt fresh.

I knew, within reason, the progression of death. I was able to share with my husband and is his sister some of what to expect. My mother-in-law had scabs from dry lips. I knew the scabs would stay and look horrible after death if we didn't care for them while she was laying in the hospital bed. I was able to prep them for what they would need for the funeral and suggested cleaning and caring for her so her hair and nails could be done once she passed.

While it was useful, it felt awful for me. I knew those things because I had seen them, lived them out in real and painful ways.

Nearly two months after Barbara's passing, we had a dear friend lose her mother to the same disease. Again, it was walking closely and living out those painful memories. I suppose it is a necessary part of life. Reliving those painful experiences, hoping to do things better or at least without as much confusion during a time when you feel you're already in a fog.

So much of it has been a struggle.

My grandmother died one week after diagnosis. My friend's mom passed away 8 years after Alzheimers diagnosis, but only hours after becoming critically ill.

For the life of me, I cannot understand why we were forced to sit for two weeks with Barbara while she died. Was 6-7 years of Alz not painful enough? Did we all need to go through more suffering? Why?

Those two weeks have pushed me to ask God why, something I don't often do. He has not offered any clear answer, no direction as to a purpose.

I see our friend and my husband grieving, struggling with the loss. Wondering why this has happened? Asking how to go on with life. Angry that their moms are gone and nothing can fill the void. I find myself angry because I can't be enough. I question why God can't and won't give them a peace that is not of this world.

The only thing I have found to be comforting is this...It is not my cross to bear. I can walk with them, hold their hands. But the loss, it's not mine. It's not theirs either.

God never designed us to take all the grief or all the pain on ourselves. He never designed us to carry it all. That's why he gave us Jesus. Alzheimers wasn't even theirs to carry. They weren't punished and they weren't chosen for the disease.

They, like many others, had a disease because we live in a fallen world. We were designed to be perfect, but live in a fallen world where disease and pain can take us down.

There is only one promise in all of it. We will be made whole, healed, perfect. But, that doesn't ever happen in its entirety this side of heaven. Our promise, our hope, our peace is that these mothers are whole again now. God has fulfilled his promise in both of them.

Painful here in my flesh, but that is beautiful. My hope and prayer for my husband and friend is that they can hold onto that beauty.

Things are quite different when death occurs without that hope. Unlike my husband and friend, I don't believe my grandmother was converted before death. I don't have a hope of heaven with her. Don't get me wrong, it will be a happy day if I am wrong and she awaits in heaven. All signs point to that not being the case.

The promise of heaven, for me, makes grief a little bit easier. Death without belief is far more painful for a lifetime.