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.

Euphemisms, I don't like them

I find the great majority of people talk about their loved one's passing away. When I talk about the horrible thing that happened on Jan. 17, I say Faye died that day.

Look, I understand why people say passed away. The use of the words death, dead and dying seem harsh, don't they?

The very fact that it's harder to speak of death, rather than passing away is why I speak that way.  I will never see the person I loved most in this world again, this side of heaven. It's uncomfortable for me to speak about that but it is reality. The word for that reality is dead.

Sometimes I do say she passed away, mostly out of sensitivity to the feelings of others. More often I say I lost her. But I have to, I absolutely have to, deal with the reality of my new life. And that, to me means being blunt about the words I use.

I apologize if the words referring directly to death trouble you. But it's important to me, and to my ongoing healing, to be bluntly honest about my reality.

Having said that I do say Faye went to be with her Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Because that is also the truth. And it's a reality I am thankful for.

Pressing on in truth.

Silver anniversary

Today would have been our 25th anniversary.

I am saddened to not be celebrating with my Faye. But something seems to have shifted. I still miss her desperately but the darkness of grief seems to have lightened--just a bit--but it has lightened. And so my sadness on this day is not as sharp as I might have expected.

I am, however, genuinely thankful for 24 good years with a beautiful, godly woman. God was good in bringing Faye into my life.

So I am grateful. And I am pressing on.

What would I do?

What would I do to have Faye back?

Look, I miss her badly. I miss her energy, her work ethic, her laugh, her friendliness and her enthusiasm. My life is still a mess. But what I do to have her back?

Honestly, as much as I would like her here with me, she's run her race. And she's earned her reward and the toughest part--the dying part--is over and done with.

So no, there's no wishing her back. It's done. She doesn't need to go through it again.

I will see her some day.

Back Home

I'm back after two weeks in Africa and a bout of pretty nasty jet lag compounded on a cold.

I have this unsettling feeling that I'm back into my house but, honestly, I'm not sure I can say I'm back home.

You see Faye made this building home. Without Faye I really can't confidently say that this home. It's just where I live.

That will change. It has to change but it's part of this volatile journey called grieving.