Archie’s tree is changing color, the mums we got a couple of weeks ago are in full bloom, we had our first frost at our house, and the apples are ready for picking at the orchard. A choice has to be made… .
This morning was the first Saturday I did not have appointments scheduled. I did not sleep in. After taking care of the fury kids, I tucked them back in then retreated to bed. The journey through grief is about taking the time to grieve. If you run from the memories, you are just pushing them away, but they are still there. Sometimes I have to make the mental decision to stop running and allow the memories to pour over the walls I work so hard to build, breaking them down, and flooding over me.
STOP, the home repairs can wait, no excuses. My monthly “over due/collections” letter, calls to the hospital, time off of work to continue sorting who owes what and why they aren’t paying, e-mails to Archie’s past employer still with no answers, stirs up all the flashbacks that I have worked so hard to get through. Every night after, I return to crying myself to sleep until I force myself times like this morning.
This week in Grief Share the homework was to remember the good times. I have to go back pretty far for that one as Archie’s last year was spent at work and hashing out his frustrations when he got home. It’s hard for me because, since the week before his hospitalization he spent 65 hrs at work, had the cancer not stopped him in his tracks, I can’t say that this year would have been any different. I grieve that, too. Our future plans were to travel with Heartfelt Creations, but who knows when that would have come to be.
This morning was another day of reckoning. I took the time to lay in bed and feel. The morning’s goal: remembering the good times. As I crawled back into bed, I realized for the first time how badly my body ached–everywhere: shoulders, back, legs, head, feet, hands, ugh. I wished the bed would just swallow me up. Then I allowed myself to remember. As each memory came and went, so did the tears. No running, no music, no distractions, just laying there taking each punch as it came. My mom used to say,”Roll with the punches, Tracy.” Being married to the abusive (mentally and verbally) second husband, I saw her do that daily. Now it’s my turn, only in a different way.
When the anger came around the circumstances that took away my good memories, I prayed, OH HOW I PRAYED. Mostly for my heavenly Dad to bless those that allowed the circumstances to remain unhealthy for Arch. I figure I’d best pray for blessings as when God decides to confront, they are going to need it.
Luke 6:27-28 “But to those of you who will listen, I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28 bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. 29 If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone takes your cloak, do not withhold your tunic as well.
I feel like I’m about out of cheeks, to be perfectly honest.
As Pastor Jeff said,”Love your enemy the way you wish they would have loved you.” Ouch. I fear I will stumble, but I must walk the path before me. When I falter, instead of casting judgment, I hope those around me know my heart and are quick to forgive as this is a work in progress.
By the time I was done crying, praying, and remembering…my body didn’t hurt anymore. Huh? I laid there for a bit longer, but THEN my back was telling me it was time to get up and the fury kids needed me anyway.
The story isn’t over as in our walk through the grief, not only do I have to stop and allow the grief to catch up, sometimes I have to choose to walk straight into the pain. Healing comes through pain, not by avoiding or stuffing it.
Three years ago our family of three decided a new traditions was needed: annual apple picking. We accomplished that for the last two. With the changing of leaves, mums in bloom, so the apples are ready for harvest. There are only a couple of weeks left until the frost steals away any opportunity for continuing our new family tradition…but we are not a complete family :_(. If we don’t harvest apples this year, the next time we do will be another “first,” first time picking apples without Archie/Dad. Do we really want to wait to experience the pain or do we bit the bullet? We know this is ripping off more bandages and pulling off newly formed scabs but if we wait, are we then pulling off layers of skin, scars? Kind of a no-brainer if you look at it like that.
Apple harvest: this afternoon. Preparing: buckets, camera, Kleenex, duct taper for our hearts. Check
“See” you tomorrow: Blessings