Mourning is such a mystery. One hour you are fine, the next you are crippled by sorrow. There is a physical component to the process. We have been sick all week, nausea, upset bowels, general anxiety, and headaches. Sometimes sorrow feels like an elephant sitting on my chest. I do not trust myself to be around people. What was funny one minute is not the next. Humor becomes humorless, life become dull, and anxiety replaces peace.
Yesterday I found myself looking for clues to Hans' inner life in his desk, his notes, his wallet. There were none new. I knew Hans so well. But with knowing someone so well, to some degree, the magic is gone. Magic implies mystery and the unknown. We were so fully known to each other that we had merged into one flesh, one spirit and certainly of one mind. We were supremely comforting to one another at the end.
On the Thursday after the family viewing, we ate together for the first time as a unit. All the kids, 6 of them and spouses were together. At the end of the meal, I ordered two coffees. One for me, one for Hans. I knew precisely what we would be experiencing—we would be savoring the quiet joy of seeing happy children getting along, only now fully grown. The shared coffee was our own personal sign of a happy moment.
Separation is like the ripping of velcro. I am ripped. But hopeful. Hopeful that my long association with H. will bear much fruit in the days ahead and that I will not always suffer from at the memories of our life together, the restaurants we ate at, the people we ministered unto, and the events of our life.
This picture on the left has become my screen savior. It is kinda funny. Every morning H. would bring coffee wearing these clothes. Then he would sit in front of me, and I would be in bed sitting up. We would talk about the nation, the endtimes, and the church. Now he sits inside my computer, across from me, while I am in my bed typing on this screen. But now I am talking to you, my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, not him. Although I did reach out yesterday and touch his hand. I wanted to dust off his sweater to remove the beard dander and tell him he needs a shave. I guess you never stop being a nag.
Julianne had to be picked up at the mall, legs wobbly and head swimming, she was in the middle of a panic attack. Neither one of us have taken mourning seriously. It is an anxiety disorder of the first kind.
Today we are off to the cemetery to replace the flowers. This time with silk. I am beginning the nauseating process of writing thank you notes. It is emotionally difficult, painful but healing at the same time. I look forward to encountering God today. I have not met Him yet in this wilderness of recovery. His word to me has been silent. Outside my window, the mourning doves make their usual sound, I always thought they were morning doves, but no, they are mourning doves. Now I have become one.
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