I'll Meet You There ...

Friday, September 27, 2019


Life after the death of your husband requires big questions of yourself – e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. you thought you believed, knew, and had settled in your mind & heart is suddenly in chaos.

When Bob was here on Earth, with me, I KNEW who I was, what I believed about my existence, what I envisioned Heaven to be based on what Scripture told me about that place beyond the clouds, & how things would be when one of us stepped of this planet and was whisked to our final life destiny.

Some of these questions, with forgone and satisfactory conclusions have not changed – I still believe what I have always believed, and I know what I have always known.

But …

I don’t truthfully know what Heaven actually looks like because I, personally, have never been there.

And though Bob can see me; he is forbidden to communicate with me – the gulf between here and there is not accessible to us.

And I, likewise, am forbidden to communicate with him, directly.

I can think about him. My heart can miss him. I can listen to music that reminds me of him … 

... and of those delightful afternoons and sultry nights making love with him. I can talk about, and around him; but I unequivocally am not allowed to talk directly TO him. THAT is forbidden to me by my Faith.

We always understood that aspect of our Faith.

But I am unprepared for the t.o.t.a.l.s.i.l.e.n.c.e. that echoes louder than constant and continual chatter.

I MISS talking with him.

I have small snippets of video that I can bring up to hear his voice; but it is not the same ...

I am merely listening to my husband’s voice so I never forget what he sounded like.

I miss talking WITH him.

I can look up to the sky and say, “I miss you Baby”, but I can’t ask him, anymore, for specific input into my life moving forward into my future.

That is taboo.

And more than a little scary.

I am still facing big time decisions, and for 3/4ths of my life, Bob has been my sounding board – we bounced decisions back and forth like one of those turbo powered tiny rubber balls: in 45 years of knowing each other, and 44 years of marriage, there was never a decision made in either of our lives that was not a joint venture. Making solo decisions now is kinda scary – not freak-out-I-need-meds-scary … just “Yeshua, help me” stepping out in faith scary.

And maybe, that is a good thing, all things considered.

People tell me I need to re-create myself.

Do I want to do that? I mean, do I really WANT to DO that?

CAN I do that?

I liked the me I was when Bob was a present entity in my life.

I am at loose ends now … but, am I truly ready to chuck my “old” life and jump into a new life, vastly and irrevocably altered from the one I am familiar with – the one I am reluctant to let go of?

I don’t know.

And I can’t discuss those {needful} changes with Bob. HE is the REASON for those needful changes; but, according to our Faith, discussion along those lines with him is strictly forbidden.

It’s a scary place to be.

This tightwire walk I am attempting to do.

Though, admittedly, my feet are never off terra firma – the walk I now do solo is disorienting and dizzying. My thoughts are in a constant swirl.

Though Christians do not mourn as the world mourns, grief is just as gutting. We, just like everyone else, have to learn to live with the relentless ache in the heart and the heaviness of spirit that it takes enormous strength to overcome. I never felt so tired in all my life! Trying to maintain every second of every hour of every day is draining.

And the overwhelming “missingness”! There are no words that adequately define that emotion that seems to invade every cell in your body and shroud every aspect of your life in widowhood. After 9 months/13 days/& 9 hours of widowhood, I don’t burst into tears as easily as I did those first raw months – but still, the emptiness is always present. It surrounds me like a vague mist and walks with me every waking moment.

I feel rootless: as if a strong gust off the river could just upend me and blow me away.

But I know, given all the time we spent in the mountains during our lifetime together, that living things can take root in hostile alpine environments and thrive in seemingly ‘empty’ spaces. And, I know – instinctively – that if I am to survive … and thrive … I have GOT to rebuild my life; and make it purposeful.


Despite the emptiness I inherited when I was bumped in a heartbeat from wife to widow, I KNOW I AM:

A Daughter of The Most High God – I carry that title proudly, with no apologies. I may at times, appear to be a questionable daughter in the eyes of people watching me, but He will never let me go: nothing will ever change that.

A Wife – I will always be Bob’s wife: nothing will ever change that.

A Widow – I will remain Bob’s widow as long as I live: nothing will ever change that.

A Mother – admittedly, a distant mother (my children’s choices); but a mother just the same: nothing will ever change that.

A Grandmother – THAT title, in itself, is miraculous as our daughter was told she would never have natural children of her own; Creator Yeshua laughed … and blessed me TWICE; exactly 18 years apart: nothing will ever change that.

A Sister – I will always be the oldest sibling of 5: nothing will ever change that.

A Friend – my friends are far and few between, but I do have some; and I am thankful for them: nothing will ever change that.

These titles do not adequately describe me though – I am much more than these descriptions of me; and my life is lived beyond the confining lines of said descriptions. Anyone who looks beyond the lines will see a lively 62-year-old who refuses to be pigeon-holed, and resents the hell out of this crippling grief that threatens to strangle and/or hog-tie her; I am fighting to regain my solid footing and once I do … I will be off and running, dusting anyone and everything that threatens to stop me. I may be aging, but age will not whip me ;-)

I am a fighter. I fight to win - I do not accept defeat at any time. For any reason.

And I have traveled life solo before.

Before Bob – Bob was the only person I ever let get close enough to me to hem me in. And I didn’t mind Bob shortening my tether, because I never wanted to stray away from him.

But, now, Bob is not here – there is nothing to hold me back.

Except fear of the unknown.

And I refuse to let fear get a grip on me.

I WILL BE victorious because I have to be.

There is no alternative.

And my husband told me, while he was dying, that he had faith in me that I would eventually rise to the challenge and learn to fly again; and because he believed it, I believe it. Bob was always the wind beneath my wings. He still is.

Widowhood, for me, began to sneak up on us one hot Summer day – and finished its life-sucking cycle in the cold of Winter; in a hospital, in another State, where loneliness surrounded me on all sides. I woke up August 29th, asking my husband what he’d like to do for his birthday the following day … and was facing the Spector of Widowhood 24 hours later:

Bob digesting the news we had been told - that he was dying. Hard news.

Widowhood became a reality 3 months/15 days/& 20 hours later ...

I lived those hours, and I STILL can’t wrap my mind around the finality: it still seems surreal to me.

Bob breathed out his last breath on December 14th, 2018 – a Friday: the Shabbat. It really was a blessing; and Elohim was honoring my husband in this respect. I was thankful. I was truly joyful knowing that my husband had shed his seriously compromised and useless earthen vessel, and was immediately clothed in his new heavenly body as he was whisked off beyond the clouds to his permanent celestial home. I remember watching his spirit leave him, and thinking “what remains looks like he is just sleeping”. There was no flailing. There was no mask of deathly horror. Bob looked peaceful. Bob looked like he looked every night I watched him sleeping for 44 years, lying next to me. But this time, his eyes would never open again. His chest would never rise again, His long, tall frame would never again get up out of bed. Bob – the Bob I knew and loved – was irrevocably gone. Never to return:

Bob’s final hours that last day – his spirit slipped away so peacefully, there was no change at all in his countenance …

Because I am a shortie, I grabbed a chair and brought it close to the bedside, where I climbed up on it and bent over the bedside to kiss the lips I had kissed for 45 years – the bed was too high for me to sprawl across. Bob’s spirit was no longer housed in that body he had worn for 69 years, but I wanted to kiss the lips I knew. I wanted to touch the face that was so familiar to me. I wanted to stroke the thin wisps of hair that had regrown on the head he had kept bald for 3 decades (it was white – WHEN had his hair turned white?) I remember I was stunned to see white whips; we never saw ourselves as old – and I will always now, in my mind’s eye, see Bob as he was when we married. He has a healthy, strong body now; so, remembering him at 24 is how I chose to think of him now – I don’t know if that is an accurate image; but I don’t care: it is MY image of him; again, it is a familiar thing to me. I wanted to run my fingertips over his chest, down his arm, and off his long fingertips. Even though my husband was no longer in the room with me, I wanted to honor his cast-off shell of what he was with my last touching of it ...

Me, 17; Bob 24

I NEEDED that for me.

Still, I am left wanting more.

What to do with all that ‘wanting’?

Bob was my “Mr. Big”.

Bob completed me.

Bob was the period at the end of the sentence of my life; as I knew it with him in it.

I have loved Bob ever since he walked past me one afternoon on the school grounds in 1966:

Three quarters of my life.

This new life that has been thrust on me feels uncomfortable to me.

I do not like it.

At all.

Not even a little bit.

But, this is my life now.

I have to reshape it to fit who I am now.

I have to define who I am now.

I can never again be the me I used to be. I am different now; and I cannot continue living a cheap imitation of my old life – a life that is so very far removed from what it used to be.

But …

In reshaping my new life, I can salvage some of the shattered pieces of it and try to meld those pieces with a new blueprint of who and what I am becoming. It is a work in progress because I have no fricking idea who or what I am becoming – I just know I am “becoming”.


Different than I was.

Nothing at all like I imagined I would be when my life wrapped up. I always kinda hoped Bob & I would exit this life together.

Despite the 7 year gap in our ages, I never … not even once … entertained the notion that I would be a widow. Left behind.

I am stunned.

It all seems so surreal to me.

I don’t recognize my life in the moment and I have no idea where I am headed at any given second of any given day; or what my life will look like when I rebuild it.

All I know for sure is that I am doing what my husband expects me to do: I am living. The best way I know how, without him.

To reshape, and rebuild a purposeful life, I have bandaged my broken heart with flexi-bandaids to keep the shattered pieces in place while it heals as it haltingly pulsates with a limping life. I let tears freely wash away the sadness in my eyes. Instead of honing in on the ruin of my old life, I choose instead to focus on the beauty among the ashes.

I don’t have any solidifying answers yet. I may never have concrete answers concerning my life again. It is a process in action – and every day I have to jump-start it; and reshape it. I want my new life to honor my husband and the life he blessed me with – I do believe the 2 can be woven together to create a beautiful tapestry to strengthen what remains.

Bob came into my life and with his love, taught me how to fully live because he loved me unconditionally and never put a restraining leash on me. He gave me the freedom to grow and explore. Life with Bob was always an adventure – always an exciting learning experience. And, in death, as in life, Bob was the perfect example for me to look to.

So, I do.

I cannot commune with him directly, but I CAN sort through the memories of our life together and pull on those examples and his words of wisdom to help me lay a firm foundation, frame, and rebuild my life. I have learned to solo like I used to do before there was Bob in my life: I am solo adventuring. I am making friends – solo style. And always I hear past echoes of Bob’s encouragements cheering me on.

Moving into the future I will always know that Bob is with me in spirit, watching me, feeling him smile with approval at my small steps forward, and laughing with me as I exalt in my small victories.

This remote approval, I believe, will be sanctioned by Elohim.

And we will both find favor in His eyes.



The demoncrats are really desperate to push through with what they deem ‘necessary’ … while the rest of us see it for what it is: a smoke and mirrors/dog and pony show with old bitches and old gray mares.

The terrier terror from hell, pelosi, is of course forcing her geriatric ass to the front of the pogrom – with the demoncrat ‘go-to’, the old gray mare, hellery forcing her geriatric ass into the fray today; as of 5 hours ago. The bitch and the swayback need to be muzzled and put out to pasture; the teeth-baring terrier is showing clear signs of dementia in her speech as well as her wild eyes, and the drunken old gray mare ‘ain’t what she used to be

Add tarot card cronies to the mix, and the demoncrat freak show just gets more and more ludicrously ridiculous.

A terrorist-supporting, godless-leaning, racist, socialist, communist, Anti-American & Anti-Christian congress may be entertaining to a minor sector of society … BUT, they are NOT the {Voice} of America, not are they the {Voice} of LEGAL Americans.

barak hussain obama is NOT Almighty God; despite being hailed by the demoncrat party as their god.

nancy pelosi is NOT Christ; despite her view of herself as savior.

And hellery is NOT the Holy Spirit; despite her believe that she has supreme wisdom.

America, is for the 1st time, in it’s 243 years of existence in serious trouble.

If Americans do not ((((WAKE UP!)))), we could well lose America in 12 to 18 months’ time.

That should scare the hell out of everyone – not just Americans.