11 months and four days

It has been 11 months and four days since I lost my Queen.

Emotionally I'm doing better, inch by inch and day by day. I still can be very sad because the process of grieving is not a steady upward path, it is more like a ball of yarn. And I never know what thread I will put on a given day.

I can also say I'm on the cusp of moving into my new normal and beginning to live productively and with vision.

But I miss her so very much.

I miss her smile and her laugh.

I miss her energy and enthusiasm.

I miss her bustling around the house.

I miss the sound of her talking on the phone.

I miss the way we were so very different from each other.

I miss her nagging me about my eating habits.

I miss her arthritic hands which bothered her but never bothered me.

I miss the sight of her knitting.

I miss making an omelet for us in the morning.

I miss chatting.

I miss her taking a nap in the passenger seat while I drive.

I miss her persistence.

I miss her friendliness.

I miss her inviting more people over than I would prefer.

I miss everything about her, even her imperfections.

But I press on.

Subtle changes

My time with old friends in Manitoba has me thinking about something.

The Faye of the last few years is, in very subtle ways, not quite the same Faye those people who knew her a dozen years ago.  I'm saying this very carefully and with a heart full of love for my Faye.

Her incredible energy was still there but it had now become infused with a measure of stress she didn't once have. Our distance from church made it hard for Faye to play the hostess role that she loved so much and it made hard for her to have the impact on our church that she had on Seine River Church in Lorette.

Our friends here did see how amazingly friendly and energetic she was--no question. But they didn't quite get to see her reaching out to the community to persistently speak into the lives of people, the way she once. Close, but not quite.

And in recent years there was an element of stress that wasn't there at one time. And all the coaching she was getting had her somehow with the impression she wasn't good enough as she was.

She was an amazing person. I told her that at every opportunity. Somehow she was in a place where she was trying to be different.

Having said I have deeply fond memories of her.

And I press on.

Down memory lane

Over this last weekend I had the privilege of attending a retirement celebration for Ed and Jesse Hildebrand, who were stepping down from the pastorate after 17 years I believe.

Faye and I were there from the beginning. It was a blessed event as Ed and Jesse were thanked for there service and various people reflected on their ministry.

It was a sad even as I met people who loved Faye but haven't had the opportunity to talk with me since she died. All in all it was a deeply emotional weekend for me.

Several people fondly recalled Faye's friendly persistence in inviting people to church. She was relentless in loving pursuit. The thing is nobody was over the long term offended with her doggedness. Her love, her sincerity and the goodness of her heart was visible on her face. And even if they wanted her to back off, they couldn't take offence.

She had an immense impact on building of that congregation.

Sadly proud I was.

And I press on.

Broken flesh

Marriage, biblical marriage, is two people becoming one flesh.

My place in my marriage to Faye was to treat her with the respect and love I have for my own body because we were from the biblical perspective one flesh. We were one. And marriage is not a triviality. It is a sacred and holy union.

When Faye died my flesh was torn. Part of me, literally part of me, was ripped away. And something sacred in the eyes of God came to an end.

I am still bleeding but I press on.

Grief flu

I've had a cough ever since I got back from Uganda November 15. I start to feel better, only to start coughing again and have that fatigue and malaise that comes with a cold or the flu.

That seems to describe grief journey very well. In fact I think I might just call it the grief flu. I start to feeling better only to come down with that same old malaise.

Yet I press on.

Fulfilling my trust

In a post last week I wrote about Faye's trust that I would get us safely home through the storm.

She trusted me on those stormy roads but I wasn't able to protect that terrible morning of January 17. And that reality has troubled me.

Later in the week, however, the Lord--speaking to me in the way He speaks to me--brought comfort to my still aching heart.

He let me know that I fulfilled my trust. I brought my Faye safely home. She made it safely through her journey.

I've taken comfort to know I fulfilled my love trust. I carried out my responsibility.

Pressing on.

Fond memory

Something I will long remember about my Faye is her beautiful smile.

Her smile was beautiful, not because of anything to do with her teeth, but because it came from her heart and involved her entire face. It was deeply and genuinely sincere like pretty much every about her.

Was Faye perfect? No. But she was something I've always said she was--a woman without guile or pretence.

Missing her but pressing on.

Snowy roads

The roads were snowy and quite bad as I drove home late last night. It got me to thinking about Faye, almost everything does of course.

Whenever we had to get home on a stormy night Faye would just put her seat back and take a nap, after asking me if I would like her to stay awake and chat while I drove us through the storm. I almost always told her to go ahead and get her sleep.

The thing is Faye trusted me to get us home safely. I will always remember that. She was also one who was able to sleep in almost any circumstance.

The other thing is I felt I had a precious cargo in my sleeping Faye. There was no way I wouldn't keep her safe.

That last dreadful morning I would have anything to protect her. I would have taken a bullet for her without a second thought but I was unable to do anything for her.

Pressing on my friends.

I admit it

I'm lost without Faye. The emotional pain has eased significantly but my life remains in disarray. The house is a mess. I struggle with focus and lowered ambition.

I will recover. Of this I am confident, but the fight remains a difficult one.

Having said that, I press on.