And Then Everything Shifted

23 07 2013

Little did I know on the morning of March 17 that my world was about to crash. It was a gorgeous, sunny Sunday, Saint Patrick’s Day. I had addressed perspective in a couple of my previous posts, a topic that seemed appropriate in light of the book review I had done on The Sunflower by Floris Bakels, and that morning I had just posted ‘On Knitting Your Life.’

Perspective. It has a whole new meaning today, just over four months later. And I realize that the true meaning today is so different from the one I so glibly explained then, because my whole world has imploded.

It was to be a short run, getting back into the routine of training for a marathon–the third one in four years. Half marathons had become cop-outs, he insisted. Do it all or do nothing. So he went for his run. I decided to read, catch up on the news in the Sunday Press, and work on my Words With Friends. He didn’t come home the time I had estimated, but maybe he’d stopped to chat with someone, or possibly he’d had a cramp. I heard a siren at around three-fifteen and briefly wondered where it was and what it was about, but then went on with my reading. At quarter after four I was worried enough to get into my car and look for him. He was nowhere to be seen, and I could just imagine him showering when I returned home and laughing at me for my alarm. But there was something. . .

Home again, and still he wasn’t there. I took a breath and dialed the hospital. And that siren. . . but no, it wasn’t anything. The woman in emergency took my information, asked a few questions, and put me on hold, and then a man’s voice came on. A policeman. And I knew.

The rest of the day is a blur. A massive heart attack, no vital signs, no blood pressure, all this after several efforts to bring him back. They did everything right. But now everything is wrong, and it will never revert to the way it was.

Grief is a monster. It rears its ugly head every day, some days sinking its teeth in and causing excruciating pain. My husband is gone. Even saying the words out loud doesn’t make it seem real. Maybe time will heal, but I doubt that the hole will ever be filled in the way he filled it. My whole world has shifted, and it doesn’t feel right.

At the funeral my son-in-law said, “Death sucks.” That about sums it up. My hope is that I will be able to bring something positive to this blog in the near future as I look back at this dark time, but it’s hard to see the light while you are still in the dark. I hope the saying is true–“it’s always darkest before the dawn.” I look forward to the dawn.

I am blessed to have a strong faith, one that allows me to know my husband is in heaven and that I will one day see him there. Though that will never take away the pain of grief, it does give me some comfort, and I have witnessed firsthand the power of being on the receiving end of prayer for these past months. Family and friends are such a gift.

Here’s my advice: Cherish each and every day as if it is your last. If it’s not, you are truly fortunate.



8 responses

23 07 2013

Sending prayers & love. I’m so sorry. I have the fear of my husband not coming home so very often. He’s had several close calls with cars while cycling. I can only relate to the worry that you expressed when he didn’t come home & the worry when I hear a siren nearby. So very sorry.
Still keep you in my thoughts and prayers.

23 07 2013

Sending you a giant hug… and counting down the hours until I can see you and give it to you in person. xoxo

24 07 2013
Sarah Schmitt

I echo Kelly’s comment. 2 days and I will give you the hug I have been wanting to give you for months! I am in awe of you!

24 07 2013

Terri, my friend, I pray for you daily! I weep in the night at the thought of you lying alone in your bed. I fear your pain. Thank you for giving us this expression of your grief. It keeps me praying for you. “Hold on, my child, Joy comes in the mourning!” I think I spelled it wrong but I pray it is accurate.

24 07 2013

Although I don’t know the walk your traveling, our prayers continue for you and hold you ….Love you dear sister..

24 07 2013
Marie nywening

Oh Terri, how I know your pain, dear sister. It has now been 8 years and yes, thankfully the coping becomes easier….memories are always there…empty chair is BIG in our sight…but God DOES truly step in. How I resented that remark when people told me He would become my husband and thought you aren’t the one going to bed alone. Now looking back after this time…I see God was there and think when did my feelings change?? One day at a time girl….God is faithful…706-745-7522. If you need to talk…I remember days when I couldn’t pray and just cried…Jesus….love you sister in Christ and praying for the comforter to be real to you

25 07 2013
pat kroeze

Dearest Teri,I hope you feel my loving arms around you all day,The hurt does get better knowing they are with Jesus but the empty days seem so dark some times.May God continue to enbrace you in His arms.

2 08 2013
Rebecca Carney - One Woman's Perspective

I’m so sorry;…

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