Wiping Away the Fears

For two years and nine months now... I have had one of those weird widow "things" that I have done. Or really that I haven't done. For all of these days, weeks, months, and years... I have not cleaned the bathroom mirror. Not once. The reason for this is simple, and anyone widowed will likely understand. When I shower every morning, I get out and look up at the fogged glass of that mirror... and across it are the faint streaks of a hand that once wiped it clean. A hand much bigger than mine.

For two years and nine months, I have been comforted by this... every time the mirror fogs up, there he appears again. For that moment, I can still believe that my fiancé is somehow right around the corner. I can believe that he is nearby even though I can't see him - just like his handprint on the mirror has been there all along, even when I can't see it. It has been a daily reminder to believe his love and his spirit still exist despite his body not being here anymore.

For two years and nine months, I felt right about leaving that mirror dirty. Covered in dust and little bits of toothpaste and soap down near the faucet. But then something shifted. A few weeks ago, when getting out of the shower and looking at it - the thought entered my mind for the very first time to CLEAN it. It came as naturally as could be. Just there, so nonchalantly. I didn't analyze it or force it to be there. Almost as if he was whispering to me, that it was time.

I stood and looked for long time, trying to decide if I would do it. Ultimately, on that day, I decided "not quite yet" and left it. For a few more weeks, each time I looked at it, I would think about it... "Not today". It was a gentle thought, and one I was able to hold without being upset. And then this past week, finally, after sitting with this idea long enough... I looked up and did the same thing I've done for the past month. As soon as I asked myself if I should do it, a sticker that said "broken hearts club" that I had taped to the mirror fell off. It's never fallen off before, and has been there for months. I decided, well, that was it then. He's telling me "just clean the damn mirror already!" And with that, I grabbed a clean rag and took a deep, thoughtful breath, and made a bold swipe across the mirror.

As I cleaned the fog and those final remnants of his touch off the mirror... I didn't see the erasing of him, but instead, I saw me. Instead of feeling like I was losing a piece of him, I felt like I was clearing away the things I had been clinging to and was able to see myself more clearly than I have in years. Without the dust. Without the dirt and grime. I marveled at the metaphor in front of me. How tightly I've been clinging to the tangible things that remind me of him these years. And how suddenly I am standing in this place... ready to begin to see myself more clearly. And ready to allow him to live in my heart.

It felt like a huge shift to feel unattached to that mirror finally - a release - because it means that I am beginning to trust that he is in me and with me always and I can never lose him again. He is no longer in that handprint on the mirror. He is everywhere, all the time. And as I'm beginning to trust more fully in that, the mirror became just a dirty mirror - without any power over me.

How bright everything looked once it was clean. How much brighter my own eyes looked as I watched my reflection looking back at me. I smiled, because now I have a clearer, brighter view of myself and I also have him - just as present as he has ever been. He didn't disappear like I feared. And with every one of these sorts of milestones of loosening my grip, I discover yet again that I can no more lose him from my life than the sky can lose its stars. It is just not possible, and not something I ever have to fear.

The foot of the Ocean

Enjoying a few warm moments this weekend in Panama City Beach, FL

I find it ironic sometimes how much I love being at the ocean. It's ironic for me in particular, because I have no desire to ever be IN the ocean due to my ridiculously irrational fear of fish and all things that live in the water. I will put my toes in as long as I can see the bottom, but if I see anything in the water, even from far away, I am outta there faster than a speeding bullet. But, I digress...

What I meant to say is, there is just something about being near the ocean. The white noise of the waves, the view and appearance of infinity....it's breathtaking. It's hard to see this view and not just stop to reflect. 

Every year for the past 4 years, I have gone to Panama City Beach, FL in January for Gulf Coast Getaway to lead worship. Every year, it has proven to be a pivotal point in my life.

The first year I went with Jeremy and it was just the most incredible experience. Even days before he died, we talked about how much we were looking forward to going again in just two short months. We could never afford to travel for leisure, so we always squeezed our experiences into these trips. We had never witnessed worship like that before, we got to do what we loved, and we met so many cool people as a result of that trip. 

The second year, I was 8 months pregnant and newly widowed. I remember praying our plane would crash into the ocean. I remember aching and wrestling through worship, and marking every spot that Jeremy had stood the year before. I remember 1,600 college students raising $10,000 for my family and being overwhelmed in my gratitude for the hearts of so many who were carrying me forward. 

Last year, I remember a different kind of wrestling, as I was battling the judgement of many for my new relationship, but feeling my heart healing as well. It was also the weekend that Steve told me he loved me, while I heard the crash of the waters in the background, and the beating of my heart echoing behind. 

This year, I was able to bring Steve with me. I needed him to know why this place was so sacred to me, why I loved it so much. Every year, I've spent time at the foot of the ocean: comforting a friend who grieved a betrayal of the worst kind from her best friend, cursing and sobbing in the middle of the cold night, wondering why I had to keep on breathing without Jeremy by my side, swelling with joy and confusion at the uncertainty of life and of what the future would hold for me, and hand-in-hand with Steve, enjoying a new experience together, and also grieving that I would never again be hand-in-hand with Jeremy in that place we so loved. 

This place, and the ocean represent a lot for me. Fear, growth, question, pain, struggle, and ultimately, hope and healing. That's why I love it so much. The ocean challenges me. It humbles me. And it heals me. It's a place that reminds me, even in the midst of knowing at the foot of the vast ocean that I am small and insignificant, that I am also not alone and that I matter. 

The ocean reminds me that if I close my eyes and listen, take a deep breath and soak in the moment, I will have survived one moment. If I can survive one moment, I can survive the next, one breath at a time.

$15 Late Fee

It was August 2007 and my wife and I were eating dinner in the kitchen when her mother came out of her bedroom – we moved in with Lisa’s mother four years prior to help her battle cancer.  She let me know that I mailed the check for her credit card late and there is now a $15 late fee.  It ended up being a pretty big deal in the house. Even Lisa let me know she wasn’t happy. 

I put myself back in that memory and I struggle to make sense of the tension that night.  I find myself reliving the moment, but altering the conversation, “Deena, Lisa, don’t worry about $15, even though neither of you feel sick, in less than 9 months you’ll both be taken away from this family.  Let’s focus on each other and enjoy our time together.”  Lisa’s mother lost her battle with colon cancer April 2008, my wife passed from breast cancer in July of that same year.

With all the apps out there that will even tell us what to wear.  Isn’t there one that shows upcoming bills and says “A reminder to remit this month’s credit card payment.  Please note, this is your 12 month warning your life is ending, adjust your priorities accordingly.”

Because that is the only way I am not going to put over importance to the world of $15 late fees.  I would love to think that I can go through life enjoying it more, knowing our time here is short.  Looking back on how mad everyone was over $15, and now two of the three people in that conversation are dead, burns me up.  But I know I never would've said that night, “Come on, this tension is silly.  I'll miss both of you, if for some strange reason, you both were to die next year.  Let’s play cards.”

It frustrates me to walk around trying to be idealistic in a non idealistic world.  I see things that are trivial all the time.  While I understand there are bigger issues to worry about, I also understand that trivial issues will always be legitimate.  I find myself having a debate with myself when I see one of them come up:

 “This is like the tenth car commercial I’ve seen today.  Do we really put that much of our identity into the car we drive?  We focus too much on stupid crap and miss out on thoughts for deeper meaning.”

“Matt, you know better, new cars are important.  Buying one doesn’t mean you do not understand the true meaning of life.  Stop this nonsense.”

“No, I don’t care.  I want to see commercials that focus less on external importance and more for internal growth.”

“You know that’s not going to happen, so quit causing trouble.  You start acting like this and you’ll lose friends.”

So, it goes on and on and I continue my life.  Finding the right balance of understanding the small issues people choose to make high priority and not understanding getting upset over stupid topics like a $15 late fee.  But I have to be careful, as I see ridiculous issues every day, and if I let it get to me, will eat me up.  It’s a free world and people have a right to put the focus anywhere they want.  Heck, sports are a place for many of the non important issues I see. Yet, I like sports as much as the next person, nothing wrong with following games for enjoyment. 

As a matter of fact, I can’t believe that football has already their started summer camps.  I saw Jay Cutler from the Chicago Bears excited about his new receivers – I share that excitement.  I remember how happy I was when Cutler was traded from Denver.  That was crazy how that all blew up.  The owner of the Broncos wrote a letter to his season ticket holders trying to quell the storm over getting rid of a Pro Bowl quarterback.

I remember reading about how angry the fans were in Denver.  One fan wrote to the paper, “What do I tell my kids? We don't have a quarterback; we don't have a defense.  His letter to us season ticket holders does nothing to ease my mind." 

Wait, did he just say, what do I tell my kids?  I can totally relate to what this guy is going through.  As a matter of fact, I had to have almost the same conversation of, "what do I tell my kids" a few years ago. The only small difference was, mine was telling them that their mother had…. (deep breath) “I will not let this eat me up, I will not let this eat me up, I will not…..”

It's gonna be alright

It is school holidays here and to get ourselves out of the house, we've been frequenting the local mangrove wetlands to sit and watch the birds.  There's a safe - yet - quiet walking path to an elevated shelter shed where you can sit and look over a large lagoon full of migratory birds.  Some with chicks, some loud and cranky, some funny.
It is a very peaceful spot and the bird life, along with a couple of pairs of cheap binoculars has kept us entertained on quite a few afternoons.

After walking around the lagoon and onto the nearby boardwalk one afternoon, the kids and I sat in the late afternoon sunlight and gazed down to the lagoon, teeming with birds and not another human being in sight.

Peacefully.

 Quietly.

 ...and just as I was thinking that Greg would have loved this place had we known it existed, and wishing he was there to share the experience, almost feeling his hand on my shoulder as we stared off towards the sparkling water when my darling daughter put her head on my shoulder and whispered ...

"It's going to be alright Mum.  I promise.  It's going to be alright"

...and I held her while silent tears slipped down my cheeks.

...and I knew Greg was there with us.

....and I just know I'll return to this magical place, week after week.  
Just to sit and stare at the water and feel like he is really with us.
Just for a while.