A Difficult Week

The week of May 10th, I knew, would be difficult. First came Mother’s Day. I expected it to be worse than it was. I thought last Mother’s Day would be my last without at least a bun on the horizon if not in the oven. God knew different. I do not know why Mother’s Day wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. Maybe it’s because I did not spend the day with mothers (mine, his, or friends with children.) Maybe it’s because I knew it was a blessing that I was not a single mother or pregnant alone. But probably, no definitely, because God’s grace is sufficient.
Tuesday, we had a quarterly employee meeting at work. As I sat there, listening to wonderful inspirational stories of others, my mood began to darken with the sky as the clouds rolled in. The more time passed, the cloudier my countenance got. I was dreading the evening. There was a memorial picnic hosted by the Hospice organization that had cared for Nathan (and me.) I knew I should go. I knew it would be good for me and probably conducive to my healing. I knew I would enjoy seeing the nurses, chaplains, social workers, and aides that I had grown so attached to and missed seeing over the past few months, assuming they were there. I also knew it would be a difficult thing to attend alone. What if the people I knew weren’t there? I was so afraid it would emphasize my loneliness. But I went. They were all there. All the ones Nathan and I held so dear. It was refreshing and comforting to see them. And it was an excellent reminder to me of the far-reaching impact Nathan had and continues to have. I was repeatedly introduced to people I did not know who worked for Crossroads. The introduction was pretty consistent – “You remember the guy we always talked about, Nathan Green? “ “Oh, yeah!” “This is his wife.” I was so proud to hear those words again. One of the chaplains, in speaking of Nate, said, “It’s not often I get ministered to. He did.” In introducing me to another chaplain and telling them about Nathan, he said, “To say this young man was extraordinary would be a gross understatement!” I could not help but smile. It was such a balm to see how much his life, his faith, his spirit, his personality, his heart, the way he cared for and provided for me, and the way he chose to take his final curtain call still be so influential. They did a balloon release at the end of the picnic, with people writing names or notes tied to the balloons. I chose an orange balloon, Nate’s favorite color. My note was simple. “My Sweet Nate, I miss and love you so much. You are forever in my heart and I am forever yours. Always, Chris.” I don’t mind sharing the note – after all, the balloon will lose it’s helium and someone I’m sure will find and read it. I was married to Nathan too long not to become a bit of a pragmatist. But the sight of all those colorful balloons lifting into the gray, cloudy sky missing and honoring loved ones that have gone before was just precious. And whether they make it to heaven or not, I know the sentiments and words are known by the cloud of witnesses.
Saturday, May 16, 2009 would have been the 11th wedding anniversary for Nathan and me. I’m writing this Thursday night. I do not know how I’ll react on Saturday. I don’t know what I’ll feel. I know whatever it is will be acceptable. I don’t know what I’ll do. But I know what I won’t do – I won’t spend the day alone locked away in my house. I can’t. I’m so conflicted. It feels like it won’t be special because the marriage that day was meant to celebrate no longer exists. But the love still does. And the marriage wasn’t dissolved by anyone’s choice. I certainly know I won’t ignore the day or pretend it isn’t significant. But how does one celebrate a marriage one is no longer in? I suppose I’ll know the answers on Sunday. I know God’ll be in the midst of it. He has a tendency to do that. And I’m so glad. I cling to the reminder that He will NEVER leave or forsake me. So, to say it has been and will continue to be a difficult week would be putting it mildly. To date, it’s been one of the more difficult ones I have had in the past five months. But I survived Mother’s Day better than anticipated. I made it through a stormy, cloudy Tuesday (and I do not mean the weather.) And I know I will somehow make it all the way through Saturday and wake up to a glorious Sunday, a little stronger, a little wiser, and maybe a little sadder in the short term. But joy comes in the morning. That’s what I’m counting on. The joy of the Lord. It’s my strength, my peace, my shelter, my strong tower, my hiding place, my comfort. I’m constantly impressed that the nature of God is truly everything I need and more.