There
is always a cold snap before a thaw; Yeshua designed life that way: some things
do not grow unless there is a freeze involved.
I’ve
been going through various stages of {freeze} for 22 months of my new solo lobo
life – emotionally and weatherwise: twice emotionally … three times,
weatherwise … since December 2018.
The
third freeze happened over the weekend, when Jack frost paid a local visit:
The
Fall of 2018 was very painfilled.
I
didn’t notice much of that Fall and Winter – ALL my focus was on my husband.
Though
I had been married to him for 44 years and knew everything about his voice, his
features, his mannerisms, his thoughts … my teary eyes drank in MORE of him.
He
was getting ready to step off this planet and into a new life I would not be
privy to until my life on Earth wrapped up to.
I
wanted to infuse more of him into my memory data bank.
And
though I did occasionally glance out the hospital windows, my eyes still only
saw Bob – they did not pay attention to the changing leaves when they put on their
bon voyage colors, pulled away from the skeletal tree limbs, hitched dizzying
rides on the frosty breath of Jack Frost; and blew past the window panes.
I
barely noticed snowflakes when they silently began their dancing drift downward
to fall and coat the winding thoroughfares of the OHSU Complex.
Everything
seen the Fall and Winter of 2018 was shadowed by my husband struggling to shed
his earthen vessel and comfort my spirit, consecutively.
It
took 106 days for our goodbyes to be completed.
The
rest of the Winter, I sat in Bob’s recliner and looked out the window; and
cried when the snow fell, because Bob would never again share those moments with
me.
My eyes did not acknowledge the beauty of the Fall and Winter of 2018.
The
Fall of 2019 arrived to find me in a funk.
Much
of 2019 had passed in a nondescript blur: I moved through my new station in
life in survival mode.
I
dreaded the arrival of Fall.
I
felt I could learn to hate Fall and Winter – the 2 months that had always been
my favorite months of the year … and I now found them repugnant.
Logically,
I knew that Fall and Winter didn’t deserve my shunning: it wasn’t their fault
my life had been so altered.
But
I couldn’t help the emotions that rose up within me.
I
was punch-drunk with surging waves of grief that constantly kept me unbalanced;
and heart-sick with searing loss.
Memory
kept replaying over and over again reels of decades-long moments in time that left
me staggering down the Boulevard of Broken Dreams … like a tormented soul,
hoping for relief – yet boomeranging back to more bruising.
I
knew I needed to break free; but I didn’t know how.
I
pushed through the Fall and Winter of 2019, cocooned in Bob’s lingering love,
and wrapping myself in comforting sorrow.
As
weird as it may seem to some … sorrowing backtracking down Memory Lane off and
on … actually kept me sane.
22
months later, the Fall of 2020 seems to be trying to enlighten me.
I
am looking out my windows with a refreshing frame of mind.
A
few months ago, when I knew Fall was on the horizon, I did dread its arrival.
But
I was overthinking.
I
was doing what was expected of most widowing people.
And I know better.
I
know overthinking leads to defeat.
Crippling
defeat.
I
have never lived my life in defeat.
Ever.
I
am not about to start giving into it at this stage of the game of chance that
has become my new life.
I
started actively redirecting my thoughts.
One
day – a couple days ago, a friend actually helped me with this action; a few
encouraging words of a posted reply to something I had mentioned pulled me out
of the slumps and opened my eyes to an alternate way of viewing my new
life.
I
am grateful.
I
am thankful to have such a caring and compassionate friend.
Over
this past weekend, while relaxing in my set-aside-‘Island of Rest’ hours … I sought
Elohim’s guidance, Yeshua’s love/grace, and the Ruach’s wisdom. I settled into
a comforting {family} pow-wow setting, quietly relaxed with a soothing activity:
and listened to the still small voice (1 Kings 19:12).
2018
caused an earthquake in my life that unsettled it and 2019 resulted in
reconstructive rebuilding following clearance of chaotic fallout.
2020
saw me safely through the fires of my life: in a personal manner as well as generalized
wildfire disruptions.
The
ambiance of the electric fireplace seemed fitting 😉
As
the still small voice ministered to me, my spirit was soothed.
As
the new week dawned, Guidance highlighted awaiting possibilities.
I
could seize joy in the moment; I could actively push back the gray days, actively
color my world with flexible plans (with God as ‘a Team’), and sail
through the Fall and Winter months with renewed hope fueling my new life with the
oomph it has been lacking.
Love
and Grace assured me that possibilities were well within my grasp.
Wisdom
is taking a firmer hand and bringing my scattered thoughts to heel.
Purpose,
and direction, are penciled into my forward momentum again!
I
have 5 months to set aside some $$$ and plan mini vaca getaways when Spring
rolls around in 2021.
Those
5 months will give me the time I need to hit that ball coming at me clear out
of field and risk making a home run … I normally don’t make a move until I see
that all the bases are manned, guaranteeing a home run.
The
still small voice tells me I need to step up to bat and take a risk.
This
is a “biggie” moment for me.
It
will take all of those 5 months to get me to the point of standing confidently in
the Batter’s Box, hoping to make Home Base.
While
it is true that tomorrow is never guaranteed, it is also true that a prudent
person makes flexible plans anyway – knowing they are ultimately in the hand
of God: but idleness is never an option.
The
making of plans gives us something to look forward to … even while knowing our lives
are not guaranteed.
Life
is to be lived; not endured.
Some
people make struggling through this life an ordeal worthy of Oscar status.
I
choose to be a beautiful butterfly!
But
I don’t want to move too fast.
I
am waiting for the still small voice to whisper, “now …”
I
will need those 5 months to complete the catharsis process.
I
will need time to lay a foundation that will have room for all of my life in
it.
I’ve
never had to “make room” in my life before.
There
was always Bob.
Only
Bob,
no matter who I was with before Bob – Bob was always there.
Our
life together was fated before we were born.
Bob
was always ‘my guy’.
Always.
But
Bob is no more.
Bob
is still very much a part of my life … but Bob is no longer a viable part of
my life.
It’s
complex in its context.
It’s
confusing to those who do not understand the nuance of the context.
It’s
frustrating to ME, who is living through the complexity.
It’s
sorrowing.
It
must be faced.
And
dealt with.
I
have prayed a specific prayer – I must find a way to dovetail the realities
when I step up to bat and eye the outfield.
I’m
not in the game for romance: knowing men, already I should be standing on 1st
base.
But
I’m also not interested in sexcapades with a new man (no other man can fill
Bob’s shoes: Bob was a wonderfully pleasing partner) – that sends me back
to Batter’s Box with the Umpire calling ‘foul ball!’
I’ve
got to trust Elohim to get me that {‘safe!’} home run in the Spring thaw, while
my beautiful new life is unfolding in the Fall and Winter chill ...
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