How are things going, right? That's what so many people are asking and I am so thankful that there are that many people who want to know. Let me start by saying that God continues to show us blessing after blessing. Right now, I am thinking about all of the provisions that have been given to us from all of you. We have received so much support in all sorts of ways from our family and friends that it continues to overwhelm me in an amazing way. "Thank you" isn't enough, but it's all I have right now.
I am thinking also about these boys. When I thought about how hard this was going to be, I thought that the boys would be an added layer of difficulty. I assumed that I would be unable to meet their demands and that their distractions would be unwelcome. What I have realized is that just them being here is, most of the time, comforting. When I want to just break down and cry, I usually do, but then I have to get back up and tend to something they need. I can't wallow in my grief for very long, I can't let it sink into my heart because in the next second, they need me. They also allow me to smile and laugh with them.
Grief is showing itself in unexpected ways. I thought it was going to be staying in bed, crying all of the time, unable to function. And it might be that for some people, and I won't assume that I am immune from that at some point, but at this stage, it shows up as fogginess and survival. Doing the duties that need doing, but nothing more. And sometimes not even all of the duties. I have struggled with getting all of my mail open lately. I will always get the children fed--thanks to the help of family and friends--oftentimes they are bathed, and I usually can do the dishes/ laundry/ mild housework. (The housework helps me work out my thoughts.) But, the mail is the least desirable task. I think it always has been and was usually left to Chad anyway.
Sleeping is weird lately. I have weird dreams--not ones that I remember or, if I remember, are in any way meaningful--and when I wake up, I don't feel like I have emerged from a deep sleep. However, I am thankful that I do not feel tired a lot. I drink plenty of coffee anyway. But, it's like I'm just floating on top of my sleep. Or maybe it's the waking that's making it all feel different, but I can't quite figure it out yet. I feel like I start the day the same as I always have, but maybe it's the blandness of it all.
I am trying to stay active. Moving my body helps me think, pray, worship. So, I am working on getting my running routine back in action. I have to pat myself on the back--feel free to join me--because I was able to go out three times while on vacation. Who does that?! Who does this girl think she is??! (I won't add all of the things I ate while on vacation . . . ehhheerrmm donuts?) Well, anyway, in doing that, my knee started feeling weird (which it sometimes does, no biggie). But, I thought I would dig around in our bins in the back room to find this knee brace that Chad used when he was having knee trouble recently. As I was looking around back there, I came across his medicine organizer. If you have been around Chad long enough, you are familiar with this gigantic box that keeps his pills organized: a column for every day of the week, four compartments per day. I remember just after the second and third transplant, he had that thing chock-full of pills! They were different shapes and colors. It was a menagerie! Eventually they started taking him off of so much medicine and that was a good thing. Well, anyway, it caught me off-guard because it was such a part of his everyday for years and there it sat, unused, stored away in a basket, because no one needed it. And the worst part is that I could clearly see the last day he took his usual pills, that Wednesday before we went into the hospice house. I nearly burst into tears. But, I also celebrated a little because he no longer needs those meds. These pills kept him alive while he was here. He couldn't miss a day of pills. Now he is healed, well, in heaven, doing all that he couldn't do here.
I don't know what heaven is like, of course, but I was thinking today that Chad might be there playing golf on the most amazing course, or running around finding hiding places so that he can startle one of his new friends. I imagine that he's talking to everyone. What I wish is that he was able to tell me all about it. I can hear the excitement in his voice as he tries to explain everything to me, but I know that all he could really say is, "This place is unbelievable! You're going to love it here!"
When I think about him and not myself, I am comforted. I am happy for him. I am glad that he isn't here, having to endure this. I just wish he could wrap his arms around me and assure me through this process. I am so grateful for the wonderful family and friends we have. You are all loving on us so much and that also helps a ton. We love y'all.
I am thinking also about these boys. When I thought about how hard this was going to be, I thought that the boys would be an added layer of difficulty. I assumed that I would be unable to meet their demands and that their distractions would be unwelcome. What I have realized is that just them being here is, most of the time, comforting. When I want to just break down and cry, I usually do, but then I have to get back up and tend to something they need. I can't wallow in my grief for very long, I can't let it sink into my heart because in the next second, they need me. They also allow me to smile and laugh with them.
Grief is showing itself in unexpected ways. I thought it was going to be staying in bed, crying all of the time, unable to function. And it might be that for some people, and I won't assume that I am immune from that at some point, but at this stage, it shows up as fogginess and survival. Doing the duties that need doing, but nothing more. And sometimes not even all of the duties. I have struggled with getting all of my mail open lately. I will always get the children fed--thanks to the help of family and friends--oftentimes they are bathed, and I usually can do the dishes/ laundry/ mild housework. (The housework helps me work out my thoughts.) But, the mail is the least desirable task. I think it always has been and was usually left to Chad anyway.
Sleeping is weird lately. I have weird dreams--not ones that I remember or, if I remember, are in any way meaningful--and when I wake up, I don't feel like I have emerged from a deep sleep. However, I am thankful that I do not feel tired a lot. I drink plenty of coffee anyway. But, it's like I'm just floating on top of my sleep. Or maybe it's the waking that's making it all feel different, but I can't quite figure it out yet. I feel like I start the day the same as I always have, but maybe it's the blandness of it all.
I am trying to stay active. Moving my body helps me think, pray, worship. So, I am working on getting my running routine back in action. I have to pat myself on the back--feel free to join me--because I was able to go out three times while on vacation. Who does that?! Who does this girl think she is??! (I won't add all of the things I ate while on vacation . . . ehhheerrmm donuts?) Well, anyway, in doing that, my knee started feeling weird (which it sometimes does, no biggie). But, I thought I would dig around in our bins in the back room to find this knee brace that Chad used when he was having knee trouble recently. As I was looking around back there, I came across his medicine organizer. If you have been around Chad long enough, you are familiar with this gigantic box that keeps his pills organized: a column for every day of the week, four compartments per day. I remember just after the second and third transplant, he had that thing chock-full of pills! They were different shapes and colors. It was a menagerie! Eventually they started taking him off of so much medicine and that was a good thing. Well, anyway, it caught me off-guard because it was such a part of his everyday for years and there it sat, unused, stored away in a basket, because no one needed it. And the worst part is that I could clearly see the last day he took his usual pills, that Wednesday before we went into the hospice house. I nearly burst into tears. But, I also celebrated a little because he no longer needs those meds. These pills kept him alive while he was here. He couldn't miss a day of pills. Now he is healed, well, in heaven, doing all that he couldn't do here.
I don't know what heaven is like, of course, but I was thinking today that Chad might be there playing golf on the most amazing course, or running around finding hiding places so that he can startle one of his new friends. I imagine that he's talking to everyone. What I wish is that he was able to tell me all about it. I can hear the excitement in his voice as he tries to explain everything to me, but I know that all he could really say is, "This place is unbelievable! You're going to love it here!"
When I think about him and not myself, I am comforted. I am happy for him. I am glad that he isn't here, having to endure this. I just wish he could wrap his arms around me and assure me through this process. I am so grateful for the wonderful family and friends we have. You are all loving on us so much and that also helps a ton. We love y'all.
I remember the day I "found" DG's stocking cap....He loved that thing and it all came flooding over me. How much I missed him and how I loved him still. Grief comes is usual places. Love hearing about how God is there with you. I know it's true from my experience. Love you girl.
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