Today my calendar tells me it's two months since Ramsy died, but time is such a crazy thing. (I know there's a great quote from Einstein about relativity that would fit here, but you'll have to google it yourself.) I can't really explain how it feels to me except to say that having Ramsy with me feels like a different lifetime. The kids and I are managing, but every day is different, and we feel his absence in different ways each week. I didn't know in advance that these two states could exist in me simultaneously: I am never not missing him, and at the same time a fair percentage of life feels what I suppose I would call "normal". Grief is so odd.
From time to time someone will ask me what the hardest parts are of walking through this loss. Depending on the day (or the minute) I will have a different answer, but one of the consistently difficult things is this: living with the junior high version of myself all the time. At age 40, I had finally learned to quiet and/or ignore that little insecure, hesitant 12-year-old girl who would pop up in me on occasion. Experience had taught me that mostly she worried without real cause, and that she could just relax and be a real grown-up person. What a relief that was!
Well, she's back. And she's noisy. She keeps repeating to me those hurtful things that other junior high kids said to me in the 80s- your stories are boring, you talk too much, nobody wants to sit with you, you're so weird/annoying/goofy-looking. (Ok, so it's true that at some point in the 80s we were all goofy-looking.) Since I have had practice in telling this little person to be quiet, that she's mistaken, that we will just go ahead and be ourselves, I am often successful in calming her down. But it takes energy. Also, the junior high me has feelings which are what I can only call rawer (is that even a word? Raw-er, as in more raw) versions of my regular emotions. She has internal temper tantrums, she agonizes over the smallest decision, she wishes for something but when she receives it she sulkily shoves it away because she cannot really have the one thing she most wants. She is sadly lacking in the mental filters which normally provide a bit of a cushion against the yo-yoing feelings. Frankly, I don't like living with her. I much preferred Ramsy's company.
The other part of this junior high state of being which is so difficult to manage is this: having been a pastor's wife for 19 years, I had trained myself to become a good listener (I hope) and to be mindful that a conversation is when two people get to talk and share stories, when there is give and take on both sides. This is something I have worked and worked on for my whole adult life. Now, suddenly, I am thrust into a space where I have a great need to talk- and worse, in my opinion, to repeat the same things over and over, to retell stories in intricate detail which is very likely tiresome to the other person, to talk about me and my experience and what I am learning and feeling. How do you allow yourself to be this person who you have tried so hard not to be?
Here's the bottom line: it is hard to need people instead of being the person who people need. I don't think this is a pride issue- it is just hard to require something of people, to wish desperately that they will be tolerant of you and endure this terrible time with you and not be worn out. It is hard to need people but not be sure that they want to be needed. It is hard to suddenly be 12 again (I had begun to refer to this as "the larval stage" while I was teaching and dealing with adolescents last year!) instead of an actual adult human being. I frequently feel as if I am walking around with all my feelings displayed on the outside of my body- like I have no clothes or even skin on, like I have been flayed and pinned to a dissection board. And yet it does not feel right to me to run and hide.
The thing about life is that it keeps putting you into the same situation at different times and in different roles. I suspect that in this particular situation, right now we all feel a bit like we are back in junior high. When I have been in the role of friend or acquaintance of the grieving person, I have felt completely uncertain about what to say or do. Will I make it worse if I mention the loss? Is it tactless to acknowledge their sorrow in the gas station or the drugstore? Aren't I being presumptuous to assume that I know how they are feeling? I know for a fact that many times I have chosen to be silent when encountering hurting people out of fear that my words would be wrong or inadequate and cause further hurt. Now that I am taking a turn in the role of mourner, I find that I would rather hear something- even if it is simply, "I don't have any words," or, "I don't know what to say." These acknowledgements are greatly comforting to me. In the future, in the other role, I will choose to speak anyway- at least, I will when that junior high person inside can be persuaded that she is brave enough.
For now, it seems all I can do is continue to alternate between reassuring that 12-year-old and sending her to her room. Maybe one day down the road she will grow up again. Can't wait for graduation day.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
New playlist
One of the things that has always worked to get my mind and my emotions processing together is listening to music. Certain songs can change my mood instantly, or get me thinking of something inside myself that I am trying to keep covered up or avoid looking at, or bring back any number of memories. It comes as no surprise to me, then, that music is such a huge part of my days as I wade through my feelings. Sometimes I feel that I desperately need to cry but the tears won't run; well, I know which songs to play to fix that. Sometimes I want to remember Ramsy's and my romance; got it! Sometimes I need to pray but don't have words; songs will help my spirit to speak anyway. So here's what I listen to over and over right now. If you're looking for something new for your own playlist, you can check out most of these on iTunes.
Songs that remind me of or tell part of our own particular love story:
Andrew Peterson's Dancing in the Minefields
Michael Buble's Just Haven't Met You Yet
Sting's When We Dance
Sara Groves' Fly
The Jonas Brothers' Lovebug (Yes, there is actually a Jos. Bros. song on my playlist.)
Andrew Allen's I Want You
Matt Nathanson's Faster
Songs that speak of loss or struggle or separation:
Simple Plan's Jet Lag
Amanda Falk's Fireflies
Starfield's Something to Say
Amy Grant's Missing You
Matt Nathanson's Come on Get Higher
Steven Curtis Chapman's Heaven is the Face
Songs that remind me of God's big story, and how he is at work in me and in the world, and what the end of the story looks like:
Bebo Norman's Ruins (and lots of his other songs)
Brian Doerksen's Holy God
MercyMe's I Can Only Imagine
Steven Curtis Chapman's My Surrender
Handel's Messiah
Chris Tomlin's Our God
Songs that remind me of or tell part of our own particular love story:
Andrew Peterson's Dancing in the Minefields
Michael Buble's Just Haven't Met You Yet
Sting's When We Dance
Sara Groves' Fly
The Jonas Brothers' Lovebug (Yes, there is actually a Jos. Bros. song on my playlist.)
Andrew Allen's I Want You
Matt Nathanson's Faster
Songs that speak of loss or struggle or separation:
Simple Plan's Jet Lag
Amanda Falk's Fireflies
Starfield's Something to Say
Amy Grant's Missing You
Matt Nathanson's Come on Get Higher
Steven Curtis Chapman's Heaven is the Face
Songs that remind me of God's big story, and how he is at work in me and in the world, and what the end of the story looks like:
Bebo Norman's Ruins (and lots of his other songs)
Brian Doerksen's Holy God
MercyMe's I Can Only Imagine
Steven Curtis Chapman's My Surrender
Handel's Messiah
Chris Tomlin's Our God
Monday, November 14, 2011
Wish everyone could know
Been thinking of things that I wish everyone could know. Some of this stuff will sound familiar, because they are thoughts that I touched on in other posts, and thoughts I have shared with a few people as I process everything in my mind. Some of it might be new to you. I wish the words existed that would accurately express the depth of my feeling, but I'll just do the best I can with the tools I have.
What I wish everyone in the world could know:
-how much delight Ramsy and I took in each other. It is a great mystery and joy to me that we found each other. I have been telling this story over and over to different people (anybody who'll listen, pretty much!) and to myself, because it seems so magical to me. It truly feels like a fairy tale, but better because it was real. We belonged together like puzzle pieces, but we had to do the hard work of allowing the ragged edges to be sanded off as we got to know each other more and more. That kind of thing is always painful and sometimes scary; nevertheless, the end result is always something better, something good accomplished, and we knew that the deep relationship we shared was a product of the hard work we had put into it. I love that even 19 years into marriage, we were crazy about each other and each of us was convinced that we were "the lucky one". I love that we had grown to know each other so well that once he had trouble talking, I could finish sentences for him when necessary, or even guess what sentence he wanted to start! (And we could laugh really hard at the times when I was waaaay off what he was thinking!)
-what an enormous privilege it was to be allowed to take care of him through the last year. At times it was physically and emotionally daunting. At times it was profoundly painful: kneeling at my husband's feet to put on his socks for him, lifting each foot and threading it through a pantleg, was indescribably poignant and so hauntingly reminiscent of dressing our babies- the ones you are supposed to have to help with this- that it frequently brought tears. In the summer, when he had begun to be confused about doing daily tasks, and I would find him standing in the bathroom staring at the sink faucet and his toothbrush, I was so grateful to be able to be near him to set him at ease, to gently give him a hint about what came next, or, eventually, to take the burden of the task off of him. Often these moments felt deeply holy to me. Many times as I cared for him, I prayed that somehow the honour and gratitude and deep love that I felt would be made visible to him through these small sacrifices.
-the immense pride I have in Ramsy. He was such a remarkable person: funny, kind, adventurous, brave, goofy, talented, thoughtful, all those great things. And alongside that, I want to acknowledge that life is messy. People are messy. We are a mass of contradictory feelings and habits and we are often very poor at saying what we mean. We rub each other the wrong way. We take offense where none is meant. We hurt people unintentionally, or sometimes with intent. We are unfinished products, hopefully growing and learning from our experiences and mistakes and decisions. Ramsy was the same as the rest of us- messy. But having lived with him for nearly 20 years, having seen him both as a private and a public individual, I can tell you that he was a man of integrity. He knew he was a work-in-progress, and he was always deeply sorry when that caused hurt to another person. He went out of his way to apologize and ask forgiveness when he was aware of this. He always, always strove to grow and change and learn, asking God what needed to be different in his heart and life, putting energy into making those changes happen. He did this at work and with his friends and in his home. I love knowing that now he is able to be at rest in his spirit, that Jesus is telling Ramsy how proud he is of him.
-how cemented many beliefs have become for me through this experience. As a person who was taught about God from pretty much the first Sunday that I was alive, I had to take many of those teachings on plain trust since I did not have the experience to back up the beliefs. Through this season of experience I have come to understand in a new way and to a new depth that God truly gives us gifts simply because of who he is, not because of what we do or refrain from doing; that he intends good for us and will accomplish it despite any appearances to the contrary; that he loves me and hears me and speaks to me. These things and more have become absolutely certain to me over the last year; I know them in the same way that I know there is oxygen in the air around me, or that gravity holds us to the earth. How strange that I could learn these things as the earth was shaking under my feet and the mountains were falling into the sea....
What I wish everyone in the world could know:
-how much delight Ramsy and I took in each other. It is a great mystery and joy to me that we found each other. I have been telling this story over and over to different people (anybody who'll listen, pretty much!) and to myself, because it seems so magical to me. It truly feels like a fairy tale, but better because it was real. We belonged together like puzzle pieces, but we had to do the hard work of allowing the ragged edges to be sanded off as we got to know each other more and more. That kind of thing is always painful and sometimes scary; nevertheless, the end result is always something better, something good accomplished, and we knew that the deep relationship we shared was a product of the hard work we had put into it. I love that even 19 years into marriage, we were crazy about each other and each of us was convinced that we were "the lucky one". I love that we had grown to know each other so well that once he had trouble talking, I could finish sentences for him when necessary, or even guess what sentence he wanted to start! (And we could laugh really hard at the times when I was waaaay off what he was thinking!)
-what an enormous privilege it was to be allowed to take care of him through the last year. At times it was physically and emotionally daunting. At times it was profoundly painful: kneeling at my husband's feet to put on his socks for him, lifting each foot and threading it through a pantleg, was indescribably poignant and so hauntingly reminiscent of dressing our babies- the ones you are supposed to have to help with this- that it frequently brought tears. In the summer, when he had begun to be confused about doing daily tasks, and I would find him standing in the bathroom staring at the sink faucet and his toothbrush, I was so grateful to be able to be near him to set him at ease, to gently give him a hint about what came next, or, eventually, to take the burden of the task off of him. Often these moments felt deeply holy to me. Many times as I cared for him, I prayed that somehow the honour and gratitude and deep love that I felt would be made visible to him through these small sacrifices.
-the immense pride I have in Ramsy. He was such a remarkable person: funny, kind, adventurous, brave, goofy, talented, thoughtful, all those great things. And alongside that, I want to acknowledge that life is messy. People are messy. We are a mass of contradictory feelings and habits and we are often very poor at saying what we mean. We rub each other the wrong way. We take offense where none is meant. We hurt people unintentionally, or sometimes with intent. We are unfinished products, hopefully growing and learning from our experiences and mistakes and decisions. Ramsy was the same as the rest of us- messy. But having lived with him for nearly 20 years, having seen him both as a private and a public individual, I can tell you that he was a man of integrity. He knew he was a work-in-progress, and he was always deeply sorry when that caused hurt to another person. He went out of his way to apologize and ask forgiveness when he was aware of this. He always, always strove to grow and change and learn, asking God what needed to be different in his heart and life, putting energy into making those changes happen. He did this at work and with his friends and in his home. I love knowing that now he is able to be at rest in his spirit, that Jesus is telling Ramsy how proud he is of him.
-how cemented many beliefs have become for me through this experience. As a person who was taught about God from pretty much the first Sunday that I was alive, I had to take many of those teachings on plain trust since I did not have the experience to back up the beliefs. Through this season of experience I have come to understand in a new way and to a new depth that God truly gives us gifts simply because of who he is, not because of what we do or refrain from doing; that he intends good for us and will accomplish it despite any appearances to the contrary; that he loves me and hears me and speaks to me. These things and more have become absolutely certain to me over the last year; I know them in the same way that I know there is oxygen in the air around me, or that gravity holds us to the earth. How strange that I could learn these things as the earth was shaking under my feet and the mountains were falling into the sea....
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Grab bag of thoughts
A bit of a mish-mash for today's post- some stuff I've been thinking about, been doing, been experiencing.
1) Foggy brain. I have heard other people talk about their grief-induced mental fog, and I have in no way been immune from it! I will be in the grocery store (one of my quirks is that I always make my grocery list in order of the way the items are laid out in the aisles and always follow the same route through the store so that I can get in and out quickly) and realize that I have been standing staring at the same shelf for a few minutes. I squint at whatever is in front of me and frown, and I actually have to go through this thought process: What is this? It's a red and white box. What is in the box? Scalloped potatoes. Is this something I buy? No. OK. What is this beside it in the blue and yellow box? I am no longer a fast grocery-shopper! Something I am learning the hard way: it is a very bad idea to stash something as I am heading out the door, thinking that I am putting it in a safe place. My kids say that they, too, have the foggy brain. They forget lunches, homework, chores, you name it. We're all in the same boat here! My mother-in-law assures me that in about a year, maybe, I "will stop putting shoes in the freezer and ice cream in the closet"!
2) Question for Aldersgate choir members from the 1990 tour: why is Chuck wearing a sling on his arm in the video of our Wenatchee, WA stop? Yes, there is a prize for whoever can answer this question. I have dug out of Ramsy's files a beautiful goldenrod-coloured poster of the choir splendidly arrayed in robes. Fantastic. As runner-up prizes I also have blank Celebration 1990 thank-you cards and assorted years of choir tour programs. Limited quantities only- so sad.
3) Our minds work in mysterious ways. It often seems to me so absurd that Ramsy is not ever coming back to pick up his guitar in the living room, or sit beside me in church, or watch a movie with me, or tell a corny joke. It doesn't seem sad, at certain times, just ridiculous or plain not possible. And yet I do not ever actually think that he is not dead. Our minds are so weird. Another thing: when I think of him during the day, my thoughts are almost all of him when he was well, but when I dream about him, which is pretty well every night, he is always sick. Strangely, this is not distressing to my dream self. Also, when I wake up after dreaming about him, I don't feel sad; I feel glad to have seen him. This is not how I expected to feel. In fact, almost nothing about this experience goes as I imagined it would. Things that I figure in advance will be hard often turn out to be quite easily manageable, but then I am blindsided by some small thing, like the smell of coffee in the church coffee room last Sunday morning. All of a sudden my hands were shaking and I couldn't see through the tears or decide what I wanted to drink- totally unexpected.
4) Rituals, or perhaps I should say symbolic gestures, help. Sometimes I do drink coffee, which I don't actually like, just because I want to remember Ramsy and do something that he loved. Stuff like that.
5) Every day is different. There seems to be no pattern to how I feel from day to day. I might have a really hard day on Tuesday, and then wake up Wednesday feeling happy and energetic. And then Wednesday afternoon the dreaded fog may set in. I never know what to expect. But because I am not pressured in terms of time- I have no deadline for needing to go back to work- it's ok. I can get stuff done on the easier days, and just be sad and write and talk with friends and listen to music or whatever on the harder days. I am so thankful for that!
6) I need to talk about him constantly. I do a lot of this by writing, but I am a person who learns and processes by telling stories and sharing experiences, and much of this needs to be done in conversation with others. So please, if you are talking with me, do not be afraid to mention him or ask about him! Also, please be patient with me as I run off at the mouth- I don't mean to take over the conversation, it's just that I miss him so much. I have so appreciated hearing from old friends (and newer ones, too). Thank you!
7) Last thought- this post is getting long! I heard a lovely story the other day about Ramsy being absolutely absorbed in worship, wiping his tears on his sweater and not caring at all. I love this story, partly because it is so typical of him and seems very familiar to me, but also because it reminds me of how passionately Ramsy loved God and would talk, over the years, about how much he wished for Heaven where everything is made right. I always thought I would feel angry if Ramsy got to go there first and I had to stay here, but in keeping with the "expect the unexpected" theme, instead I feel a profound joy that he is doing the very thing he always longed to do. Another mystery.
1) Foggy brain. I have heard other people talk about their grief-induced mental fog, and I have in no way been immune from it! I will be in the grocery store (one of my quirks is that I always make my grocery list in order of the way the items are laid out in the aisles and always follow the same route through the store so that I can get in and out quickly) and realize that I have been standing staring at the same shelf for a few minutes. I squint at whatever is in front of me and frown, and I actually have to go through this thought process: What is this? It's a red and white box. What is in the box? Scalloped potatoes. Is this something I buy? No. OK. What is this beside it in the blue and yellow box? I am no longer a fast grocery-shopper! Something I am learning the hard way: it is a very bad idea to stash something as I am heading out the door, thinking that I am putting it in a safe place. My kids say that they, too, have the foggy brain. They forget lunches, homework, chores, you name it. We're all in the same boat here! My mother-in-law assures me that in about a year, maybe, I "will stop putting shoes in the freezer and ice cream in the closet"!
2) Question for Aldersgate choir members from the 1990 tour: why is Chuck wearing a sling on his arm in the video of our Wenatchee, WA stop? Yes, there is a prize for whoever can answer this question. I have dug out of Ramsy's files a beautiful goldenrod-coloured poster of the choir splendidly arrayed in robes. Fantastic. As runner-up prizes I also have blank Celebration 1990 thank-you cards and assorted years of choir tour programs. Limited quantities only- so sad.
3) Our minds work in mysterious ways. It often seems to me so absurd that Ramsy is not ever coming back to pick up his guitar in the living room, or sit beside me in church, or watch a movie with me, or tell a corny joke. It doesn't seem sad, at certain times, just ridiculous or plain not possible. And yet I do not ever actually think that he is not dead. Our minds are so weird. Another thing: when I think of him during the day, my thoughts are almost all of him when he was well, but when I dream about him, which is pretty well every night, he is always sick. Strangely, this is not distressing to my dream self. Also, when I wake up after dreaming about him, I don't feel sad; I feel glad to have seen him. This is not how I expected to feel. In fact, almost nothing about this experience goes as I imagined it would. Things that I figure in advance will be hard often turn out to be quite easily manageable, but then I am blindsided by some small thing, like the smell of coffee in the church coffee room last Sunday morning. All of a sudden my hands were shaking and I couldn't see through the tears or decide what I wanted to drink- totally unexpected.
4) Rituals, or perhaps I should say symbolic gestures, help. Sometimes I do drink coffee, which I don't actually like, just because I want to remember Ramsy and do something that he loved. Stuff like that.
5) Every day is different. There seems to be no pattern to how I feel from day to day. I might have a really hard day on Tuesday, and then wake up Wednesday feeling happy and energetic. And then Wednesday afternoon the dreaded fog may set in. I never know what to expect. But because I am not pressured in terms of time- I have no deadline for needing to go back to work- it's ok. I can get stuff done on the easier days, and just be sad and write and talk with friends and listen to music or whatever on the harder days. I am so thankful for that!
6) I need to talk about him constantly. I do a lot of this by writing, but I am a person who learns and processes by telling stories and sharing experiences, and much of this needs to be done in conversation with others. So please, if you are talking with me, do not be afraid to mention him or ask about him! Also, please be patient with me as I run off at the mouth- I don't mean to take over the conversation, it's just that I miss him so much. I have so appreciated hearing from old friends (and newer ones, too). Thank you!
7) Last thought- this post is getting long! I heard a lovely story the other day about Ramsy being absolutely absorbed in worship, wiping his tears on his sweater and not caring at all. I love this story, partly because it is so typical of him and seems very familiar to me, but also because it reminds me of how passionately Ramsy loved God and would talk, over the years, about how much he wished for Heaven where everything is made right. I always thought I would feel angry if Ramsy got to go there first and I had to stay here, but in keeping with the "expect the unexpected" theme, instead I feel a profound joy that he is doing the very thing he always longed to do. Another mystery.
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