Always a Journey

8 years.  There are days that it seems like we have lived a lifetime since Scott died. . . .and there are days that it feels like just yesterday and I find myself reliving the moment I found out and reliving the phone calls to tell family and friends.  Reliving the planning of his funeral and figuring out how life was going to work without him in it.  All of it a blur and yet so crystal clear at the same time - parts I will never forget the details and other parts that I don’t remember the details but others do. Days where I remember feeling split in two over grieving the loss and trying to help Jaelyn in her grief as well.  

Anniversaries take me back to those moments and raw emotions. I remember faces that stand out and words that stand out from those first days and months — a hug from someone who had walked the same path a few years before and no words were necessary, a friend simply handing me a tissue box and telling me it was okay to cry when I told her that I couldn’t stop crying and her husband telling me in another moment that they were in it for the marathon with us - recognizing that this wasn’t a sprint (and they were there daily propping us up), cards from faces at church that became dear friends in this journey, co-workers who had never walked that path but did little things to let me know that they cared.  Losing friends along the way that maybe simply didn’t know how to be there in the grief or possibly felt awkward in the dynamic shift from couple to widow — I’m guessing and trying to give grace as I truly don’t know in each case why the relationship changed.   

It truly has been a learning journey — and one that I know will never end.  There is always something to learn at each step along the way.  Every year on the anniversary, I find myself evaluating whether I have learned or grown more from this journey.  I hope that I am more compassionate, able to give grace more even when undeserved, slower to react, quicker to live each moment as if it is the last, to cherish relationships, and to reach out when God prompts - especially when it is outside my comfortable little circle.  In this way I hope that I bring honor to God - - - and to Scott’s memory.