It's Been Awhile
Hi.
It’s been awhile friends. Been awhile since I have felt as though I could write thoughts down. I have wanted to and actually started/deleted this post many times. Writing has always been a safe haven for me, but I just haven’t felt the clarity to write.
In that light, I appreciate your patience while I collected my thoughts. Thanks for checking in on me. Mostly, thank you for the messages saying, “Take your time. Know you are missed.” I’m deeply grateful for this vibrant little community. You helped my heart during an unfathomable time which is something I will always be thankful for.
We lost Doug’s dad unexpectedly at the end of March. To date, it is the most painful, significant heartache I have experienced. Maybe that’s why writing felt so futile…there were simply no words. Many of you didn’t know him, but he was a sweet, affable, and generous husband, father, and grandpa.
From that day on, we sheltered in place at Doug’s mom’s house. It was part practical, so that we could help with anything that came up, and part needed…for us to be with other people who knew and loved him. To wade through grief together brought glimpses of light to what felt like an unbearable load. There’s something to being in the trenches with each other; solace in not feeling alone in your questioning or uncertainty. If you were up in the middle of the night facing grief head on, there was typically someone else up as well ready to chat or just be a shoulder for tears.
Of course you would never welcome a pandemic or the circumstances of why we were there, but it was a mighty quarantine crew (and pretty cute too considering it included four of my nephews). I’m grateful for that unhurried period of time as we processed life without him. Those first few days and weeks are surreal so to be able to do everything together was grounding. It provided needed balance, strength, and sometimes simple distraction to get through the day.
With the mandate to shelter in place, we were given a rare commodity: time. Time to sit, to get things done, to process. I did a lot of thinking about what was happening in our world, our family, and the future in light of both of those things.
If I would try to summarize my thoughts from those days, they would be haphazard at best. However, one steady thought I’ve had cemented itself in practice: that when life gets difficult, your people show up. Coronavirus, the hard stuff, quarantine or not…they show up.
They show up by sending a meal so you don’t have to worry about cooking.
They show up by mailing cards each week that list the ways they’re praying for you.
They show up by texting songs to encourage or a funny video to lift your spirits.
They show up by sitting 6 feet away from you in the yard while you sip coffee together.
They show up by ordering flowers, wind chimes, books…
They show up by calling you day after day.
They show up by crying with you via Zoom.
They show up by praying for you when your mouth simply doesn’t have the words.
They show up by being the dearest nephews around ready to hug you goodnight, sing Disney songs, and remind you that Papa is in heaven.
I’m profoundly humbled and bewildered how people find a way to be there for the ones they love even when they are physically unable to show their support; how they know what will speak to your broken heart in moments you need it the very most.
It wasn’t just about us. I have seen so many happy examples of how people around the globe are ‘showing up’ for others in their life (and strangers): talented seamstresses making masks. Crowds saluting healthcare workers from outside hospitals with flashing lights and honking horns. Decorated cars participating in birthday parades. People grocery shopping for their elderly family members/neighbors. Influential figures using their platforms to raise awareness and encourage positive change. Friends finding ways to stay connected from households apart.
In losing Doug’s dad and experiencing a pandemic, I have learned that the only way to face something heart breaking is to join hands and interrupt the darkness head on. Together.
A few quarantine-pick-up-that-camera-before-you-forget-how-to-use-it moments.
We are back in Michigan and adjusting to a new normal which is both welcomed and difficult. Life is forever changed for us; we are not the same people we were. But, we are grateful that mercy is new and patiently waiting each morning. I’m sure we aren’t alone in that sentiment.
Even in my saddest days, I have hope. It isn’t always confident or even visible, it’s often asking questions or just plain tired, but it’s there. At the gravesite, we said the Apostles Creed. Due to COVID limitations it was a small group, but our voices broke the silence and filled me with hope. We looked loss in the face and defiantly said what we believe to be true. Again, not always the bravest, but a present, expectant hope.
Whether you have concerns about the world, miss social contact, or are experiencing a loss of your own, I pray this hope can find your heart as well.
“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
Never separated. Hopeful.
Sincerely,
Ashley