I used to love gardening. Then I started my masters program and an adoption from China, and I gave up my time in the garden. That didn't really mean that my yard went to pot, however. I've always had a gardening service and enough perennials to keep things looking okay. I just hadn't done much out there in the past eight years. Eight years!
The last gardening project I was involved with was when Michael and I planted three or four heirloom tomato plants in containers a few weeks before his diagnosis. I really don't remember the outcome of that effort as things got a little crazy after that.
The past three summers I just couldn't figure out how to do anything with such a little one. I was just happy to have the lawn mowed, and the weeds under control - all done by my gardener. However, last summer I realized that two of my trees had matured to the point where they were competing for space, and one of them needed to go. That finally happened a few weeks ago. With that I had to think about with what to replace the tree (a hydrangea), and that decision motivated me to consider what to do with some other bare spaces in the planters.
One of the prettiest summers I can recall in my garden way back when was when I sprinkled a lot of wildflower seeds in the planters. The results were just amazing. So that's what I've done again in hopes of having lots of color, and flowers that Michaela can pick. She helped me distribute the seeds, and she helps me water the ground every other day.
But our biggest effort was inspired by a friend who gave us a bare-root thornless raspberry bush. In going to the home improvement center to purchase a container and some soil for that, we also came home with a strawberry pot and strawberry plants. After planting them, I ordered an heirloom tomato plant, pole beans, and carrots. Today we prepared three more containers for planting, and put our new veggies in the soil. I'm thinking about purchasing two blueberry bushes next weekend, too. Michaela loves berries, and when she visits my sister's house she really loves to eat them right out of the garden.
It has been quite a while since I've been in a position to take the time to care for anything other than myself and Michaela. But I think that we are now ready to do this type of gardening together, and that we'll enjoy all its benefits in the warm months ahead.
Early grief was terrible. I remember feeling dazed. And I remember how my grief affected me physically, and how that took me by surprise. For two or three months after Michael was gone, I took anti-anxiety medication to deal with the strange sensation of anxiety that would overtake my limbs, and make my heart race.
I took a sleeping pill each night because I didn't want to have a hard time going to sleep. I didn't want to lay there and feel miserable. I'd just spent the day feeling miserable. I needed a break.
Silence. Life became so silent after Michael was gone. Gone were the days of listening to Michael laugh and talk on the phone with his friends, and the melodic sounds of him playing the guitar in the back bedroom. Gone also were the days and nights of the sound of the oxygen machine's compressor, and Michael's cough. The silence was so big. So overwhelming.
I read a lot. Read my Bible. Read everything I could about grief and Heaven. I went to church practically every time the doors were open. It was a refuge.
Each day was different. Some better. Some worse.
Then I got pregnant. After so much tragedy, something someone incredible and beautiful was growing inside of me. Something Someone that belonged to Michael.
Through the pregnancy, and through Michaela's babyhood my grief has continued to diminish in its intensity. Nevertheless, being a young widow with a child is very hard, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. There are so many precious moments that are mine alone when they should be ours.
I've been struggling with loneliness. I've been lonely every day for four years, but it doesn't really get easier. I am not comfortable with my loneliness. Yes, there's the loneliness of a wife missing her husband, but it's even more than that.
I don't know if it's just me, or that I'm a widow (couples are notorious for avoiding widows), but I have absolutely no social life. None. As much as I love being with my daughter, I really miss adult conversation and companionship. Yesterday, a dear friend called and we got into a deep conversation about faith (we always do). Michaela was not impressed, and her behavior deteriorated the longer I stayed on the phone. I knew I needed to get off the phone, but I was so enjoying the intellectual stimulation that I was reluctant to do so. Until she pulled my hair. More than once. That did it.
Look, I know a lot of mothers of young children struggle with that sort of thing. But, more than likely, their husbands come home and they have some time to talk to him. That never happens here. I spend my weekdays with 31 children, and then I come home to my child. I haunt Facebook just so I can have some sort of adult interaction. Pitiful!
And I feel stuck at home. Michael and I used to go out of town frequently. That is much harder as a single mother with a small child for many reasons. I just want to get away. I know we'd be doing more if Michael were here. I know because we used to, and I know because that's what families do. We are not a family. We are family, but we are not a family. Get it? I have a daughter. I do not have a family. You cannot tell me otherwise.
I suppose other people who aren't widowed struggle with loneliness, and feeling like they aren't in the position to do the things they want to do. But for me, I associate these feelings and limitations to the changes I've experienced since becoming a widow. Since Michael hasn't been here.
The longer I've been a widow the more it seems like some others have forgotten this terrible loss in my life and the changes it has imposed upon me. I can think of several times in the recent past where I felt that an extra measure of thoughtfulness should have been extended to me, but wasn't. In those moments I feel that I am invisible, and that I have no voice. When I say something, I don't feel that I'm understood. So, I'm not saying anything anymore. I'll just avoid things when possible.
Four years (and two days) a widow.
Friday will be the fourth anniversary of Michael's passing. He's in my heart and my thoughts all the time. I have so many memories of our time together, and I see so much of him in Michaela. It is really hard to believe that it's been four years. Life goes on. I didn't think it really could without him, but it has.
We didn't have the same taste in music, so I hope Michael wouldn't be offended that I oftentimes think of this 90s song in regards to missing him:
Although we lived in this house for almost three years together, occasionally I will drive by the house he lived in for many years before we were married. It's not far from here - just a couple of miles. I don't know why I do that. There's absolutely nothing there for me anymore, and there hasn't been in years. It's just if we're over that way, I have to take a little detour for a quick drive-by. I tell Michaela, "That's where your daddy lived before we got married."
Michael didn't disappear, but I was with him when he left for Home. I can only imagine what it's like where he is now, and I long for the day the Lord returns to take us there, too. Michaela and I read a lot about Heaven. I have found some wonderful children's books on the subject, and they are part of our bedtime routine most nights. I tell her frequently that Daddy lives in Heaven with Jesus, and she has begun telling me that, too. I try to live with an eternal perspective on this life, and I am doing my best to impart that to Michaela. Some people think that's morbid, but in Colossians 3:1-4 the Bible tell us:
If then you were raised with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ is, sitting at the right hand of God. 2 Set your mind on things above, not on things on the earth. 3 For you died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. 4 When Christ who is our life appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory.
Not too long ago, I put this sticker on the back window of my minivan:
I had to look up 1 John 2:16-17 when I got the sticker because I did not remember those verses offhand. If you start reading at verse 15, the passage is really powerful:
Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. 16 For all that is in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—is not of the Father but is of the world. 17 And the world is passing away, and the lust of it; but he who does the will of God abides forever.
It's hard not to love the world. It's all we know. I supposes I'm as guilty as anyone is of wanting to feather my nest, experience lasting happiness, and enjoy the good things life has to offer. But, the truth is that none of this will last. And the best this world has to offer, is nothing compared to what the Lord is preparing for those that love Him. Since losing Michael, I have found it easier to not love the world and the things of the world. It has been easier to look ahead, through a glass darkly, to an incredible future that awaits me. This is my hope.
Life without Michael isn't terrible, but it isn't great either. I am so lonely without him, and our daughter doesn't know her father's love, the sound of his voice saying her name, or the warmth and strength of his strong arms around her. However, I know that there will come a day when my faith is made sight, and we will have the sweetest reunion together. As of Friday, we are four years closer to that.
