Skip to main content

Why aren't you over it yet?

Why aren't you over it yet?

Thank God I don't get hate mail, but I follow other widows on social media and these are the types of questions they receive at times. Those who ask are probably well-meaning but they don't understand grief. They don't understand what it is like to have a spouse die.

This has been a tough week. I was hoping I was over tough weeks. Some have said that the second year of grief is harder than the first but the first month after the one  year anniversary of my husband's death was a pretty good month. I could feel the healing. I could feel restoration. But then I had a tough week.  And I guess I'm not over tough weeks. And I realize that I probably won't ever be over tough weeks.

And honestly that realization kind of sucks. 

 I cried driving home from church on Sunday because my husband wasn't there any more to sit next to me in church. I cried while making dinner on Monday because I wasn't making dinner for my husband. I cried while falling asleep on Tuesday because my husband wasn't falling asleep next to me. I cried while taking my car to the mechanics on Wednesday because my husband wasn't the one doing that. I cried on Thursday while looking at a picture of my husband with our kids when they were younger because he isn't here to watch them grow up. 

Last week I didn't cry about any of these things, but this week I did. 

At times the tears just silently rolled down my eyes. Other times the tears flowed like a rushing river. But every time, the tears were accompanied a pain so deep within me because it hurts so much. And I'm thankful that I don't receive hate mail from people asking why I'm not over it yet. Because I am not over it yet. And I won't ever be.

 I will never stop missing my husband. I will never stop wishing that he was here. I will never stop loving him. I will never stop talking about him. I will never stop crying at times when I think about him. And if that is what it means to be over it; I will never be over it.

There is no such thing as getting over it. Talking about how much it hurts that my husband isn't here doesn't mean I am not moving forward.  In fact, my life illustrates what moving forward looks like in grief. I don't lay in bed all day. I function properly at work. I go on vacation with my children. I teach my children how to hit a baseball. We go to the zoo. Laughter and smiles fill my house. I am moving forward in grief.

Yet tough weeks are here to stay with me probably until I die. He was 31. My children 4 and 6 at the time. My best friend. The one who was in every single one of my dreams for the future. I won't just cry on his birthday. I won't just miss him on our anniversary. I won't just hurt on holidays. I hurt on random Thursday's.  It hurts when I wake up and he's not there. It hurts when I'm setting 3 plates instead of 4. It hurts when I don't see him on the platform at church on Sundays with his bass guitar. It hurts when my kids are running and playing and Mel's laughter isn't there.

I cry. I miss him. I hurt.

Sadness isn't an enemy of joy. God is filling my heart with joy but it will always make me sad that my husband died. Grief isn't an enemy of trusting God. I can trust that God has a plan for my life but still hurt because the person I thought I was going to grow old with died when he was just 31.

And I am thankful that God doesn't send hate mail. I am thankful that He isn't asking me why I am not over it. I am thankful He isn't asking me why I am still hurting. I am thankful He isn't asking me why I am still crying 13 months after Mel died. I am thankful when I cry, God sees my tears. I am thankful when I hurt, God comforts me. I am thankful when I miss my husband so much, God's presence fills the room confirming that He isn't leaving me.


Popular posts from this blog

Why the church doesn't need any more coffee bars

More and more on my social media feeds I have been seeing a lot of churches boast of the cool, trendy new initiatives that they have begun. I have seen pictures of coffee bars that resemble Starbucks. I have seen lighting that resembles one seen on Broadway. I have read catchy sermon titles and have seen how people have brought the movies into their sermons. In so many of these posts, I see all that churches are doing to attract new members, but I don't hear them talking about the power of Jesus. 

My husband passed away February 14th, 2017 after a two year battle with cancer.

To say he battled cancer is an understatement. He was hospitalized two weeks out of every month during the first year of treatment. He was hospitalized a total of 18 times. He was rushed to the emergency room 8 times. He spent close to 500 days separated from his two children over the course of two years. And eventually the chemo, designed to get rid of the cancer, caused him to be paralyzed. And for the last …

To the Christian who had sex before marriage

This past week my social media was inundated with engagement and wedding posts. It seemed as though everyone was either getting married or engaged during the month of November. And as I scrolled through the many pictures I began to think of those who are filled with guilt or shame over their past and who every time they see an engagement announcement or wedding picture think within themselves "that will never be me."

You have convinced yourself that because you had sex outside of marriage, or because you were in an unequally yoked relationship or because you are a single parent, or because before you were a Christian you had an abortion, or because even though you didn't have sex you didn't maintain sexual purity, (the list can go on) that you don't deserve or never will get that "happily ever after."

Your sin may have been exposed to all due to a pregnancy or maybe yours is hidden in shame and secrecy and you are afraid to even admit what you have don…

Mommy, why didn't God heal daddy?

Monday night my six year old daughter came running to my bedroom with tears streaming down her eyes. She was crying so hard I could barely decipher the words coming out of her mouth. "Mommy, I miss daddy.... Life isn't the same without him.... Why did he have to die???? Why didn't God heal daddy????I wish God would let him come back."

Why can't the difficult questions my children ask be "Mommy, where do babies come from?" Why, at seven and six do they have to ask "Mommy, why didn't God heal daddy?"  Most six year olds are playing with toys, learning to read and watching their favorite television shows. For the most part, so is my daughter but then there are nights like Monday where the tears stream down her face for an hour. Or there are days where I find her in her bedroom, holding a picture of her dad to her chest silently crying and when she sees me asks, "Mommy, why didn't God heal daddy?" 

My children ask me question…