Bittersweet Blessings
Early in my grief walk, my pastor, Bob Myers (www.covenant-church.org) assured me of God’s sustaining care for orphans and widows. As time went on, I saw this firsthand. For thirty-five years, Bill and I lived alongside the snarly traffic near Baltimore. For thirty-five years, I longed for us to move back to our home state of Michigan. We almost made it…only another year or two until his retirement. I just didn’t plan for our return to be with his body housed in a mahogany box. Now I live in a small town, four blocks from Lake Michigan. The quiet streets are lined with large shade trees overlooking Victorian homes. Much like the streets of my

Is This Going To Get Better?
Perhaps I was slower to heal than others. Each of us goes through grief at our own pace. And that’s okay. At the one-year anniversary of Bill’s death, I was a mess…still shackled by guilt over not being there when he died, and bowed down over the suffering he’d gone through. At two years, I felt as though Bill, had he known I was again at the gravesite, would be nudging me with a gentle smile, “You still here? Move on, girl.” Three years passed and I knew in the marrow of my bones, I was ALONE. As I approached the fourth year, I refused to put myself in any position accentuating my aloneness. Durin

Morning By Mourning
Morning by mourning, my body remembered my sorrow before I did. The clog in my throat destroyed any thought of eating breakfast, while the emptiness of loss gnawed at the pit of my stomach. I moved through these after-Bill mornings at a snail’s pace. I had no idea my body would empathize with my mind and drench itself in agony. Or that grief would be so draining. To my chagrin, I had to back out of appointments and get-togethers more often than not. I would like to be able to say I then became wise and logical…that I allowed myself the time and care I needed to heal–body, mind and soul. Instead, I smothered my grief with the heavy, art

God Of All Comfort?
For the third week in a row, I considered missing Sunday morning service. To my mind though, the god who had shaped my childhood with legalism would not be pleased if I did. I was still staggering through the early stages of grief and had spent half the night tossing and turning over the reality of Bill’s death. I was exhausted. Church was a half hour’s drive away. I would be going it alone. My road vision wasn’t great even in the best weather, and now fresh-falling snow hid yesterday’s black ice. I could overcome these obstacles. Others did. I got in my car and slid through the back streets. After I turned onto the highway, I was blinde

A Legacy of Love in Loss
Through dying, my husband taught me how to live. While Bill lay paralyzed in a hospital bed, I watched in amazement as he lifted the one hand he could still move, in praise to God. Everything was in God’s hands. In spite of Bill’s pain, depression and sorrow, he was at peace. Not me. I wrestled with God. I argued with the doctors: “Bill can’t be dying. He’s a Marathon runner.” I brought him food when he no longer wanted to eat. I lifted him into his wheelchair and took him to the physical therapy he could no longer do. After his death, I ignored the reality of the grass settling in over his grave and kicked a