Please excuse me if the entry title is not correct. These last few weeks have flown by and also seemed like a lifetime. They have been like walking through jello, being in an altered state, dazed, like what you see in movies when people are intoxicated or drugged. There have been times of precise alertness and times of confusion and memory lag. I go to the freezer to get something from the pantry. I go from the front of the house to the office in the back and wonder what I am there for. It takes me easily three times as long to accomplish any task.
There is an incredible amount of paper work and telephone calls after someone dies. Although we had prepared as best we knew how, there are still many, many loose ends to tie up. And I’m doing this on two or less cylinders. Thankfully, I have very good friends in place who are walking with me, talking me through all of this and reminding me of conversations with bankers, employers, lawyers, etc. They also are making sure I eat and check up on my sleep schedule. What do people do when they have to face this without dear friends and Jesus? I can’t imagine!
Lily is a comfort even as she grieves. She is mirroring all of the feelings I’m experiencing. Joy: She exultantly greets Papa in the morning on the patio, as she looks at the clouds. “Hi Papa! Good morning!” Sorrow: she mimics me as I sob or gasp for breath. After a few mimics, it becomes comic relief and I have to laugh. She expresses anger, “I don’t like Papa!” When I ask why, she says, “He is happy and we are sad!” She has her own grief. After watching the video from the service: the first time she laughed and pointed out everyone: “there’s Papa when he was young! There’s Papa when he was a baby! There’s me! There’s Paige, etc.” Second time through, same response. She wanted to watch a third time and when I said no, because she needed to eat breakfast, she cried inconsolably. I relented and let her watch a third time and she sat silently and cried silently. Afterward I hugged her for a long time.
This is a continuation of the journey Wayne and I started when he was first diagnosed. Only this leg of the trip, I’m travelling without my life partner. People use the term surreal. I’m going to have to look that word up.
One thing I am happy about: I dearly wanted to travel with Wayne right up to the door that separates earth and eternity. God granted me that desire. I can rest in knowing we fulfilled our vows, “till death do us part.” Thanks be to God.