A real smile

1. Duchenne smile(Noun)
   A smile involving contraction of both the zygomatic major muscle (which raises the corners of the mouth) and the orbicularis oculi (which raises the cheeks and forms crow's feet around the eyes).

A Duchenne smile could also be called a real smile; even people who don't know recognize the term Duchenne smile, a real smile.

My Faye had a real smile. It involved her entire face and it came from the heart. And it lit up her face and the whole room.

I don't think Faye could have faked a smile, or any emotion at all, for that matter, if her life depended on it.

I always called her a woman without guile. Faye was entirely without pretence. And she didn't have a cynical or skeptical bone in her body.

I remember her with love. And I press on.

inch by inch

Something has shifted. I really feel that to be true.

I've had my happy moments since Faye's death. In fact, I've been happier than I am right now. I'm happy enough but I've had happier moments.

It seems, however, as if there's a new foundation under this sense of peace or slightly growing well being.

The happiness, or peace, is accompanied with a small, but growing determination to get my life back.

I also have a new measure focus and ambition to start living and being productive again. Emotional healing is part of that--a huge part. I've also had my eyes open both to the need for a productive, healthy life and to the fog I've been in.

Another part is, I believe, is the effect of improving health habits. I've taken steps to stop eating whatever is in front of me and eat what I know to be healthy. For me that means a ketogenic diet. In the slightly less than a week since I got strict my clarity and focus has improved sharply.

Body, soul and spirit are working together. And I press on.

Establishing foundations

Fourteen months have passed since Faye died.

It has been, without question, the worst 24 months of my life. And I honestly believe that is simply speaking out of reality, as opposed to self pity.

But it seems the Lord is directing me to start embracing life, to make that mountain my mountain and to embrace it as a holy mountain.

Now, he is talking to me about establishing new foundations to my life--or, to put it another way, to rebuild my foundations.

Life is entirely different for me now--entirely. The bedrock foundation of my faith in Christ Jesus has not, of course changed, but everything else is new. And it is time to put foundations in place for my life going forward.

I need structure. And I need fresh vision. I have a sense of what that will look like but I need foundations in place again, simply because the loss of Faye--who was part of my heart--devastated those foundations like an earthquake.

I am looking forward to the next steps in my life.

And I press on.

Healing coming

This weird, convoluted, journey of grief has brought me back to a place of peace and energy and even a measure of happiness. And I am grateful for that. I'm particularly grateful for a restoration of a measure of energy.

But here's the thing with grieving the loss of someone you love. The monster always seems to be lurking just below the surface. Which creates something very much akin to paranoia.  I feel good today but I'm so sure about tomorrow.

So I'm learning, I admit I'm a slow learner, to live in the moment.

I'm happy-ish today. There is no guarantee about tomorrow. I could be happier, or grief could kick me in the groin. I don't know.

Literally all I have is today--this very moment. I'm not responsible for tomorrow. I can't control  tomorrow. I can live as well as possible today--this day--so I will choose to do that.

I also need to remember to live inch by inch, by inch by inch. My life will come back together that way--tiny little incremental step by step.

Thirdly, I need to always keep in mind that I am a physical being, living in a physical world. And that means growing in the physical disciplines to become healthier and stronger. And yes, I am firmly convinced bodily health affects my emotions.

If I'm healthy I will be stronger emotionally.

And I press on.

My mountain top

Mountains and mountain tops have become intensely significant for me emotionally since I lost my beautiful lady.

Preachers often talk about mountain top experiences--meaning it to be a time and place of joy and peace and a sense of the presence of God.

I see it differently. My mountain top experience occurred January 17, 2018. That's the day Faye died.

Take a look at the mountain top--what do you see but rock, ice and snow. You can't actually see it, but it is also an almost airless place of intense cold. That's where I felt I had landed that day--I was in a place of rock, ice, snow, and bitter cold--a place not meant for life. Survival for me was a matter of day by day, inch by inch. I was almost unable to breathe.

But slowly, ever so slowly, my perspective is changing. People who have survived wilderness experiences talk about getting a glimpse of heaven from a seat in hell. The wilderness, even when it seems it might take your life has a certain fierce beauty. In ways I find difficult to fully articulate I can testify to this. I see life differently now. And I can see beauty again.

In my times of prayer and meditation I can sense God telling me to embrace life again, and, even, to embrace this mountain.

It is becoming a mountain of God's holiness.

And I press on.

Hope returns

A new thread has been pulled out of this twisting, turning, tangled ball of yarn that is grief.

The thread of hope has been pulled out again.

Partly, I'm sure, is the fact that the sun is shining and spring is here.

It's also partly, at least, because of my dog and the fact I seem to have become the sun, moon and stars of her life. Who can explain that love but I tend to agree with the man who said something to the effect of wanting to be half the man his dog thinks he is.

In truth, however, it is something given by God in his grace and closing allied to faith and love.

So hope means that I am not hopeless, or lost, because God has me.  And He is in control of my future. Hope is understanding that all things do work together for good for those who love the Lord.

Hope is confidence that seeds of life and joy are growing, even if they are below the surface.

Hope is stubborn faith and the refusal to give up, even when everything within me is screaming for me to just stop caring.

Hope is the energy to get up off the floor and keep acting, and praying and worshipping and expressing gratitude, including gratitude for 24 good years with a good woman.

Hope is firm confidence that my story has been finished. It is also confidence that Faye's story is continuing.

And so I press on.

Why I'm writing this blog

I may have written these things before but I'd like to lay out why I write this blog, trying, very hard, to be consistent in working on it. (In other words, treating it as part of my productive, working day.

1. Honestly I felt divine direction in doing this, so I do it.

2. Laying out my thoughts and emotions regarding the death of my beautiful lady is part of my healing. I firmly believe that.

3. It also allows me to track my grief journey. I know the tenor of my posts has changed over the last 16 months or so.

4. I have no idea how many readers I have but I believe this blog can help others either dealing with grief themselves, or who have friends suffering from the loss of someone they loved.

5. I have a notion of compiling all this raw material into a book at some time

I am deliberately, consciously, as emotionally honest as I can possibly. Again, there is a reason for my honesty.

I believe this would be purposeless, apart from being as raw as I can possibly be.

I actually believe in pressing in, by faith, into God's goodness. And I believe in using the language of grace and appreciation, and faith.

But there is a place for the expression of raw emotion. It needs to be let out. And that attempt at transparency lets friends know precisely where I am at, and maybe,  just maybe, it will help someone else express their pain.

I may even sometimes delve into slight over statement, again deliberately, because looking at the worst actually gives me hope that I can deal with things and move on. I've taken the hardest shot I can take. And I'm still standing here. I still believe God is good.

And I am pressing on.

Confession time

I have to confess that I didn't go to church yesterday. I didn't go anywhere or do anything, other than hang out with my dog.

Truth be told I was hiding from Mother's Day. Cowardly I suppose, although I've already dismissed that worry.

I love the Lord and I love my church. But Mother's Day would only have reminded of the beautiful lady I lost. And I just didn't care to go there.

Yet I press on.

The colour purple

I've been thinking about the colour purple.

The reason I've been thinking about purple is that Faye was beautiful in purple.

And I've been thinking about purple because Faye loved purple--scarves, sweaters, ear rings.

I've been thinking about the colour purple because it's the colour of royalty and Faye was my queen. And she is now heavenly royalty

I remember going Christmas shopping many years ago and seeing a purple something or other. It may have been a sweater, or it could have been a blouse, but I knew she would be beautiful in it. And I loved looking at my beautiful lady in purple.

List this under fond memories.

And I press on.

01 Beth Hart - Might As Well Smile - Better Than Home (2015)

Battered and bruised

If I could be a neutral or objective observer of grief (hint, I'm not neutral or objective and I never can be), I would make the point the journey of grief is long, hard and unpredictable.

A month or so ago I was genuinely happy. The cloud of grief and its side effects had lifted.

Of late, however, I've been feeling like grief has punched me in the face and then proceeded to curb stomp me.

Boxer Mike Tyson once said something to the effect that everyone has a plan until you get punched in the face. That describes the grief journey, at least from my completely subjective point. Just when you think you have a recovery plan in place, grief punches you in the face.

Having said that, however, I will add that I am battered and bruised but I'm not broken. I will get up off the mat and I will recover.

I am determined in that. And I know God is with me. And I know healing and recovering and the embrace of life are in the plans for me.

Pressing on.

A broken and contrite heart

you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
17 My sacrifice, O God, is[b] a broken spirit;
    a broken and contrite heart
    you, God, will not despise. Psalm 51:17

I think I have met the condition of a broken and contrite heart.

And now I wait on the Lord, in trust, and faith and humility.

No I don't believe the Lord took Faye home for the sake of changing my heart. He could do that in any number of ways.

But I have changed. I certainly have had my heart broken and I am in a place, right now, where I can only depend on the Lord and know He is good, He is sovereign and He is at work in my life.

Pressing on.