Tag Archives: Loss

Butter in the Jelly Jar

For years, butter globs coexisted with the jelly in my refrigerator.

Mike made toast, buttered it and used the same knife to spread the jelly, leaving butter globs in the jar.

Our son, David and I commented to him repeatedly, how gross it was to open a jar of jelly and see butter all through it. He would smile and say, “You’re gonna’ butter your bread first anyway so what’s the problem. This way it’s all done for you.”

We could never get Mike to stop and for years it annoyed me.

Today should have been our forty-third wedding anniversary. One more special day in my year of ‘without him firsts’. A day filled with longing and tidal waves of sorrow crashing against my heart. I wonder how long it will take for me to stop feeling like I’m still married to him. I also wonder why I was so irritated about such trivial things such as butter in the jelly jar.

As I made Jon a peanut butter sandwich a few days ago, I realized I would give anything to open that jar and see those butter globs all over the jelly again. I desperately miss all the things I loved about Mike and surprisingly, even the things I didn’t. 

Everyone we love annoys us in some way. And we annoy them. Socks on the floor, toothpaste tops left off, toilet paper rolls facing the ‘wrong way’, crumbs in the kitchen, a glass left out of the dishwasher, shirts hung crooked on the hanger; these are signs of life, and validation that someone you care about is still here. 

So don’t dwell on the petty, the insignificant, making constant mountains out of anthills. Let it go. Laugh. Love. Serve. Forgive.

Believe me when I tell you how much you’ll miss the butter globs in the jelly jar and the one who once put them there.

Ephesians 4:2 (NLT) “Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other, making allowance for each other’s faults because of your love.” 

Colossians 3:13 (NLT) “Make allowance for each other’s faults, and forgive anyone who offends you. Remember, the Lord forgave you, so you must forgive others.”

View From the Other End of Marriage

Dear Marriage,

I get it. It’s hard sometimes. You start out young, starry eyed, idealistic, You know exactly how you want this love to go forward and what it should look like. Then life gets in the way.

The kids come. They grow. You work hard every day, keeping a roof overhead, food on the table. Responsibilities pile up. Another diaper to change. Another meal to make. Another bill to pay. Another illness. Another obstacle. Health challenges or special needs add extra weight to this marathon. It’s heavy and all-consuming.

Money, energy, time and patience often run short. And it seems the love has as well. The expectations are high and no one is meeting them exactly. You weren’t aware that love was more choice than feeling, keeping it alive was such hard work and the sacrifices would be so huge. This hasn’t turned out the way you envisioned and you’ve forgotten why you did it in the first place.

The days are routine. Mundane. Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months and months into years. Then one day, suddenly, it’s over. One of you is gone. The other chair is empty, the bed lonely. There’s less clothes to fold, no one to talk to and the person you made history with, the one who knew you like no one else, doesn’t come home anymore. The final vow has come to collect and one of you is left to sift through the memories.

As the grief overwhelms and the great aloneness presses in, you realize all of life together was lived, not in the beginning or in this ending, but in the middle. In the mundane and in the routine. In the imperfection. In the stress and the joy. In the days that both dragged and flew by.

Then you know without a doubt, you’d go back and do it over again if you had the chance. Love was far from perfect, and was sometimes buried beneath the constant challenge of everyday life, but it was there and it was good.

Remember Jesus, who loved the most and gave His all? He willingly offered the greatest grace. How can you not do the same?

Still somewhere in the middle? Be helpful. Be patient. Be prayerful. Find closeness and joy in the small moments. Persevere all the way to a no-regrets ending.

As you drown in tsunami waves of grief and sob through tears of unrelenting sorrow, a breath of joy will arise from that broken heart, a thankfulness that you didn’t give up on love, even when you couldn’t always see or feel it.

You stayed.

You endured all the way to the end.

And it was worth Living For. Fighting For. Loving For.

 

Ecclesiastes 7:8 “The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride.”

Galatians 6:9 “Let is not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

Broken Birthday

A632849B-8E8B-4056-B86E-E0A278D505CAJon’s birthday was a few weeks ago. May 4th actually, and birthdays have always been a big deal around here. Mike made sure of that.

He believed if God took the time to make you and put you here on this ball we call Earth, you mattered. You were valuable, thus birthdays were cause for celebration. 

“No one should have to work or go to school on their birthday,” he’d tell me every year, the little scowl line erupting between his eyes over the unfairness of it all. “It’s a holiday. In fact you should have your whole birthday week off!” 

Who could disagree with that? Mike would buy a cake, candles, balloons and ask the birthday person in advance, “What would you like for your birthday? Where do you want to go?” Then he’d make it happen. And he loved it.

I went to the store the day before Jon’s birthday. Bought a cake and candles and made sure he had a few gifts to open. I asked him where he would like to go, what he’d like to do, and made a few suggestions. 

Before I went to bed that evening I reminded him, “Don’t forget to think about what you want to do tomorrow Jon. It’s your birthday.”

He was standing in the kitchen and turned to look at me. “I don’t care,” he said and my heart broke into a zillion pieces. Again.  

I went to bed that night, cried into my pillow and cried out to my Heavenly Dad. “Help us please! We are so wounded. Heal us. Bring us to a place of new joy.”

“Hear me, Lord, and have mercy on me. Help me, O Lord.“ Psalm 30:10

Jon didn’t leave his room on his birthday and we never went out. It was the first time in 38 years he didn’t want to hear the happy birthday song or burn the candles down to the frosting before he blew them out. Several days later that unopened package of candles was tucked away in a drawer, when I finally cut the cake and gave him a piece with his dinner.

Right now, the loss of Jon’s father in his everyday life, turns every special occasion into pain. The events we usually celebrate become mile markers for what is missing. Reminders of what was. This is the nature of grief. 

Choking back tears, I gently replied, “It’s OK Jon. I understand. Maybe your next birthday will be better. Maybe next year both of us will care again. Let’s just keep asking Jesus to help us with that.”

Maybe by next year or the one after we will celebrate.

Maybe then we will say, “You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever!” Psalm 30:11-12

Please Lord, let it be so.

The Final Vow

IMG_0011The first two promises Mike and I made to one another weren’t always easy to keep. We laughed, cried, fought, rejoiced, struggled, walked together and at times, far apart through “for better, for worse. In sickness and in health.”

Many years ago we stood at an altar and repeated, “Until death do us part.” I was a young, starry eyed, romantic, full of warm, fuzzy dreams of how my life would play out with the guy I loved. Those five words, stated so innocently, so glibly have now come full circle.

“Until death do us part.”

Forty two years later I’m experiencing the final vow. This one I get to keep without Mike by my side. That’s how it usually works. After decades of sloshing through the history of our life, one of us got to go. One got to stay.

“Until death do us part.”

My covenant promises to Michael Connis ended abruptly a few weeks ago. The last vow has been fulfilled. The stark, harsh reality of it has left me reeling, gasping, longing.

But the living of it in between the “I Do” and this parting, I will never regret.

The combining of two bodies, souls and spirits is a most wonderful, difficult thing. If you’re still privileged to be living between the first two vows and the last one – BE. ALL. IN.

Love ferociously. Struggle determinedly. Give it all ya’ got until the final vow comes calling.

In the deep grief of a broken heart and the loneliness of long, sleepless nights there will be a spark of joy in realizing you kept the promises.

And it was worth it!

Matthew 19:6 “So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”