A couple weeks ago I took the last can of tomato sauce out of the last case of tomato sauce in my pantry. As I tossed the empty box on the floor to mash it for the garbage, it occurred to me that this was the last case of tomato sauce Doug and I bought together on our last trip to Costco.

It felt wrong to crumple it up for the garbage. It felt like this should be a “moment”. Should I take a picture of it?

I took a picture of it.

Yes, silly. After all, I was standing in a house we purchased together, surrounded by stuff we purchased together. The walls are lined with photographs of a family we grew together and a life we built together. And here I was, undone by an empty case of tomato sauce.

The second year anniversary of Doug’s death is coming in October. Since that date, life has been confusing, enlightening, difficult, easy, depressing, hopeful, and sort of OK… all at the same time. I’ve watched YouTube videos, listened to podcasts and read stacks of books on grief. I’ve had meaningful conversations with family, friends and a stranger or two.

What I have learned is that grief is long and hard. It takes fortitude to even want to push through it. Sometimes the weight of it feels light and sometimes it’s a heavy wave that washes over you and there’s no point fighting it. There is help if you need it, but ultimately it’s a process you must work through for yourself, if you choose to. Grief is as unique as any person who has ever lost a loved one. There are no formulas or clear cut answers on how to manage it. It’s a healing process from major surgery, because, you know, half of you is gone.

In the beginning all I could think was;

“how could this possibly have happened?”

“how is this real?”

A November 4, 2021, entry in my prayer journal reads, “Lord, I know I will need to push myself to go places and be around people. But I don’t have to be in a rush, do I?” ….No, no I did not have to rush. As my son, David, reminded me over and over, this process is a marathon, not a sprint. I’ve been marathoning.

Over time the questions morphed into more practical things like;

“please help me make at least one of these phone calls today.”

“help me not sound stupid at the appointment.”

“can you help me fix this (unending list of dumb things) so I don’t have to bother David?”

In the spring of this year, my questions for God became a little more intense. While I have a loving family on both coasts of the United States, we keep in close touch, and I live in a comfortable, safe home in a lovely area, I don’t feel at home. I’m have trouble figuring how to do life all by myself.

“how do I make this house Doug and I shared for a brief five months, feel like it’s really home?”

“how is it that I can feel joy and sadness, clear headed and confused at almost the very same moment?”

“as lonely as I feel and as much as I want to get into life, how do I get myself out the front door?

“what is my purpose, what is my purpose, what is my purpose?” (sorry, I get a little intense and I can hear Doug saying, “will you just chill please!”).

So, after 52 years, 2 months and 12 days of marriage, (and two years of wandering in the wilderness) where do I go from here? That is the question I ponder now.

Several years ago, I read an obscure verse in the Bible in Exodus 23:27-31. Moses was leading the Israelites on their 40 year trek and they were about to enter a new area. The Lord told Moses He would “send his terror ahead of them” to drive the people out of the land they were to occupy.

“But, He said, I will not do this all in one year because the land would become a wilderness and the wild animals would become too many to control. I will drive them out a little at a time until your population has increased enough to fill the land”. I wrote in the margin how beautiful that God held space for them until they were ready.

I believe He holds space for me too. He knows when I’m ready. I just need to pay attention.

So I’m stepping outside of my journals to write in this space again. I want to acknowledge the God who has already answered question upon question. I want to bear witness to how He continues to write the story, at least this little part that belongs to me.