Imprints of Love

After the holidays I like to get my carpets cleaned. This morning I moved some chairs and a table from the living room in preparation for the carpet cleaner to do his magic. The first thing I noticed was the mark left by the chair and table.

The furniture was no longer there but had left a mark; an indentation where they had been.

As I watched the carpet being cleaned, I saw the machine go back and forth as it removed the stains. Even after the cleaning, the imprints remained. So it is with our grief. Our loved one leaves an imprint where they have been in our lives. It will always be there. It’s a permanent mark. It can’t be removed.  

This quote by theologian N. T. Wright clarifies this: 

“Now love doesn’t stop at death – or if it does, it’s a pretty poor sort of love! In fact, grief could almost be defined as the form love takes when the object of love has been removed; it is love embracing an empty space, love kissing thin air and feeling the pain of nothingness. But there is no reason at all why love should discontinue the practice of holding the beloved in prayer before God.”

Because we loved, we grieve. Through our attachment, we formed a bond. We give ourselves a gift when we recognize and allow the “marks” of our loved one to be acknowledged and affirmed.  

In my backyard, I have three orange trees that my husband planted. When I pick an orange, I think of him and how much he loved eating the fruit of his labors. As I take the first bite, I let myself take in the juice and consider the love and grief I experience in remembering my husband.

I Corinthians 13:13 says, “Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love – but the greatest of these is love.”

Photo is of Akaka Falls, Kona, Hawaii

On a recent trip to Hawaii, I was able to visit this beautiful site. There’s a picture on my phone from 2018, a week before my husband died, of us in Costa Rica, standing in front of a waterfall.

Sweet memories come from the places we were that I now can discover on my own.  Grateful, yet grieving.  

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download

Five Year Reflection

This coming Monday, January 16, will be the five-year anniversary since my husband died.  

In reflecting back, I find myself in a strange place that I can’t completely wrap my head around; the fact that five years have passed since I saw him take his last breath. It’s a vivid memory from when I called 911 and knew something was wrong until I saw the ER doctor in the hallway where the staff was still trying to revive him. At that moment, my life came to an abrupt halt. The detour led me to discover that where I was is not where I stayed.  

Today my life has a totally different landscape. I do life as a single person. I am surrounded by other women who have no spouse. I attend a different church. I have a different routine. I check the box “widowed” or “single” when filling out a form. In this way, I’ve adapted to living without my husband.

But here’s where there’s a dichotomy; I still love my husband; I miss his joy-filled laugh, his contagious smile, leaving his “piles” instead of “files” on the table. There’s not a day I wake up and don’t think of him. The pictures I have around the house make me smile now instead of cry. 

My grief looks different five years later.  

My faith looks different five years later, too.

Those first weeks, months, and the entire first year, I would wake up and get my coffee and open my Bible to the Psalms, looking for the words to describe the pain I was in. Psalm 31 offered a picture of where I was, verse 7, “you have seen my affliction, You know the troubles of my soul.” Verse 10, “indeed, my life is consumed with grief.”

Throughout the laments, I found a way to cry out to God with words and tears, and then find hope that God was with me, sustaining me, carrying me, and holding me. Reading words became a way through and writing words expressing the pain and magnitude of grief I felt became a way of containing my sorrow. 

In this journey, God was faithful and is still faithful. I have a deeper connection in my relationship to God. God rescued me out of a well so deep I thought I was going to stay in forever. God tenderly and compassionately offered me a “rope of hope” to pull me up from the well, a little at a time, where light came dimly at first, and then more brightly.  

I have a deeper appreciation for my children and relationships. Things I use to worry about take less of my time. I’ve learned that life has limits and I want to invest in people. I am able to walk with others who have experienced loss. This past week I spent time with two other women who have lost their husbands. The invisible wound we carry is like being in the military and going to battle. The bonds that are formed in the trenches of war stay long after the fight.

As my children and I remember my husband, their dad, on the anniversary of his homegoing, we will have dinner at a favorite place we use to go as a family of four. The three of us will tell stories and recall how much Fred loved us. There will be tears. Those tears reflect our deep love for a man who loved us well, stayed faithful to God and his family, and received his reward from his Heavenly Father.

We are truly grateful, yet grieving.

"Grateful Yet Grieving"

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download