MONDAY, MONDAY - CAN’T TRUST THAT DAY …

Mondays have always been a crap shoot.

But since being bumped from Wife to Widow, the untrustworthiness of Monday has been ratcheted up.

Possibly because my new life modus operandi has completely deviated from my old life’s living patterns. The most obvious and major change, is of course, that Bob is no longer here – and that significantly changes how I view, and deal with, Mondays. Bob was always my steadying factor for whatever Mondays threw at me. And back then; in my old life, as compared to what Mondays are throwing my way now, in my new life: Mondays then were pretty mild … compared to the ramped-up ordeals of Mondays now.

Mondays, always, since December 17^th, 2018 (3 days into widowhood) seem to tortuously assault my thoughts with unwanted remembrances. Mondays have become a cruel silent-movie-drama observance I don’t seem to be able to rein in and halt the reel. It’s not that I want to observe the silent viewing: it’s that my mind replays it regardless. 

Whether the Grief imp is androgynous, or not – it is a bitch just the same.

All day long.

And being held hostage to the silent showing, that fills my mind’s eye with remembrances of death/grief/trauma related images; and makes my heart feel heavy, and thump uncomfortably – makes me want to run and hide.

But there is no hiding from Grief.

That imp will find you, and plague your thoughts relentlessly until you are a pain wracked mess of sobbing flesh.

Yesterday – Sunday Funday 6 – was adventurously bold, and satisfactory enjoyable.

(https://jeastofeden.blogspot.com/2020/01/sunday-funday-6.html)

But this morning - like clockwork, before dawn had even lit the sky, the torture began.

Pricks into my memory cells probed the possibilities that Bob actually knew he was seriously ill and kept that fact from me. The pin-prick of hazy 7 year old memories before he retired, started the ball rolling: I’m not going to go into details. I’m just going to state what I now believe – having relived these slideshow trauma dramas for the past year: h.e.k.n.e.w.

That’s why he told me in the car as I was rushing him to ER in August 2018, “I don’t think I’ll be coming home this time, Val.”

That’s why he was able to face his impending death so calmly: he NEVER broke down. Ever. He stoically digested what the various physicians were telling him, and calmly got his spiritual situation in order.

And daily asked prayer for me.

His only concern for those 4 months he was hospitalized and undergoing rigorous testing, and that failed surgical procedure at OHSU, was to prepare me to emotionally and spiritually let him go Home.

I’m thinking he probably knew after we left Kirkpatrick’s office 7 years ago. And he never went back to another doctor. Until I forced him into the car and rushed him to Peace Health’s ER Ward on his 69^th birthday, the end of August 2018.

I believe now – being forced to watch the silent showings every Monday that he guessed how seriously ill he was. He chose to live his life full-on, no-holds-bar. And the little signs I missed then, have slowly been coming into focus; in bits and pieces, every Monday – forcing me to KNOW.

This would be the ONLY THING BOB EVER KEPT BACK FROM ME. In 44 years, this would be the only time.

He didn’t want me worried. He didn’t want me curtailing our life to settle for a life less lived. He would not give the Grim Reaper a single moment of surrender, until absolutely forced to – and even then, Bob went out under his own terms: making sure I was prepared for his exit in December 2018: there would be no sudden snatching this final death; Bob would not leave me in despair. The other two deaths (1978 & 1981), were sudden deaths, and he was returned back to life: we enjoyed each other for 37 extra years.

As a Christian, and as an adored and deeply loved Wife, I know in my widowed heart that there is nothing I could have done to change the outcome of the events that unfolded, and concluded at the waning of 2018. Neither one of us could have controlled the situations – Elohim was always in control of our lives, and of our life together: there is no arguing that fact. Bob understood that; and I understand that. But, just the same … when Grief visits me in the dark before dawn, and invades my thoughts on Mondays, {knowing} does not help.

But Elohim is compassionate.

Elohim is faithful.

And Yeshua, well acquainted with sorrow Himself, does not let my heart get overwhelmed with sadness during this healing process where I have gained enough in soul strength over the past 478 days (since the beginning of our medical nightmare), that the revelations Grief is forcing on me can’t destroy me. It just reinforces how much Bob loved me, and adds more steel to my backbone.

I am blessed to have been honored by Bob’s incredible love towards me. In all things, my husband was a dying breed: to the day he expelled his last breath, he was a man of chivalry.

Some people … and Mondays … may try to cast doubt on Bob’s character; to question his wisdom in keeping this one thing back from me, and consider that personal decision a flaw in our marriage; but I KNOW the facts of our life together. Bob always told me, and said so many times to his attendants and visiting physicians, that he considered himself lucky in love to have me for his wife. He would hold my hand as I stood beside his hospital beds, and tell them, “I’ve put my little wife through a lot, these 44 years; but she’s stuck. She must love me an awful lot. I know I love her”. And then he would squeeze my hand and smile that sexy smile at me.

And in the end, then – and at the end of every Monday, now: that love Bob honored me with is all that really matters.

It doesn’t matter that h.e.k.n.e.w.

It doesn’t matter that Grief is forcing me to know that he knew.

All that matters, is that we loved each other fiercely. And I love him still.

Physical death sucks.

Grief is a pain in the ass.

But love is powerful.

And my life is blooming again in brilliant color BECAUSE of that love, so fierce and protected.

Would it have mattered if he told me what he suspected and deemed prudent to hold back from me? All I can say to that question is - the choice was his; and I respect that. Bob did what HE THOUGHT BEST for him. For me. For us.

Mondays may be untrustworthy, but Monday’s silent slideshow stirred up by that jabbing imp Grief, can never undermine my husband’s love from me.

Bob wanted to make sure I had my wings before he walked with Yeshua through Heaven’s Pearly Gates.

It took a year for me to learn to ride the updraft.

And Bob’s love still fires my jets.

I love you, Babe.

Always.

OX