Time with the hubby

I got to spend some one-on-one time with my hubby today. It doesn’t happen often enough because he works long hours and life is busy. We had an appointment to see our pastor around noon, and hubby decided to take a longer break from work afterwards so that we could go to the cemetary and out for lunch.

The visit with our pastor was good. It was just a touch base kind of appointment which my pastor likes to do from time to time to see how we are doing. He has lost children himself and understands the heartbreak. His own experience is that you never truly ‘get over it’, and that there will always be a chamber in your soul where that loss is acutely felt. Yet time, he says, forms a bit of a crust over it, and you eventually don’t feel the intense emotion all the time anymore.

I thought about grief and redemption a bit on the way home in my car. The only thing I can liken this to is that it is almost like losing a limb. Initially the most obvious stares you in the face: Your arm is gone. You can’t see it anymore. You will never grow another one again. A part of you is missing forever. Then, as you start facing life again and attempt to adjust to this new reality, every little thing you do reminds you of your loss. Your clothes fit differently. Nothing is the same anymore. Things that required no thought or effort to you before are suddenly a challenge. You may eventually, unexpectedly, to your amazement, get a new arm – a prosthetic one.  God blesses you with the ability to enjoy things you thought were lost to you forever. He restores, bless his holy name!  Yet…the prosthetic limb that you value and treasure because of the new things it has brought into your life will still state the obvious. It is not real. It is not the original, and the original will be missed forever.

Boothe’s blog entry gave me much food for thought regarding God’s redemption. When we have gone through something as horrid and bleak and life-shattering as this, we struggle to make sense of it. It is part of our make up to seek the reason, the bigger plan behind it, to look for the beauty to come out of the ashes. We may start to form our own little ideas of how God may possibly turn this thing around for our good and our benefit. In the end though, our ideas of what is ‘the perfect outcome’ may not co-incide with Jesus’ far greater knowledge of where we are headed and what it will take to get us there. There are no guarantees that things will work out the way we plan. We look for what seems a perfect beauty for our dismal ashes but sometimes fail to see that the ultimate beauty is God himself. Gaining Jesus, and a greater measure of his presence and character in our lives is the ultimate redemption.  

Hubby and I went to see Jenna’s grave today. I got a bit upset when we arrived because the lawnmower dude had driven over a little ceramic angel that came in one of Jenna’s flower arrangements. I had placed it over her grave with a bunch of flowers on our last visit. Since there is no headstone yet, the guy drove right over the grave and the angel, shattering it in tiny pieces. I found pieces of it several yards away, and I quickly squelched some ugly thoughts about what I would have liked the flying shards of glass to do to lawnmower dude. 🙂

We sat down on the grass next the the grave for a few minutes. It is obvious to hubby and I both though – Jenna is not there, under the ground. We should not be looking down to find her, but up. Yet the grave is a touch point, something physical where we can leave a few flowers for Jenna and push a Strawberry Shortcake foil balloon into the ground for her.  I am glad now that we did choose to bury Jenna after all. At first I couldn’t bear the thought of it, of putting my baby under the ground, and I wanted to scatter her ashes to the wind instead, preferably over a special flower garden.  It was precisely because I wanted to look up and not down to find her. Now I realise I can do that, and still be blessed with a physical place that is Jenna’s alone. 

When we left I shot up a little thought to Jenna: “Bye, my sweetie. I love you.”  It may seem strange, but I almost felt her joy and happiness that we had been there to honor her memory. If she could have kissed my cheek, I think she would have, and I thought I heard her whisper: “I love you too.” I mentioned this to hubby afterwards and his face lit up. He had felt the same way.  We didn’t imagine it. Who would have thought that I would feel so close to my little girl there, in the place of the dead? Of couse it just goes to show us what we already know – she is not dead, but alive with Jesus.

Hubby and I ended our time together with lunch. It was yummy and the company was good. Sadly, all good things come to an end and he is back at work now, and here I am, typing away when what I really need to do is tackle a grossly disorganised house and piles of unfolded laundry.  Sigh.  


12 responses to “Time with the hubby

  1. My pastor’s wife has had flowers stolen off her daughter’s grave. I suggested to her to plant bulbs in the fall…daffodils, hyacinth, tulips, etc. So that if they get mown over, they will come back. I also suggested that maybe she plant some annuals as well. That way, they can not get stolen.

    Maybe that might be something you can do?

    I would have to find out whether they allow it there, I haven’t seen any other plants around the graves in that cemetary. I’d like to do it if I can. 🙂

  2. what about planting herbs? like chives or oregano or basil or something like that?

    While reading your post I remembered something My Pastor said to me~ “that I might never know how I impacted someone’s life”. The same for you, it might be years down the road or even not until you are in heaven before you can see God’s plan behind your tragedy.

    I’m so happy that you and your husband had some time together. That is always nice. Oh yes, the laundry and cleaning? It will be there later…… try to put your thoughts down now as they are much more fleeting than laundry.

  3. Your blog entries are so touching Sumi. I don’t often comment, but I wanted to let you know that I read them several times each. (((Hugs)))

    With Love,

    Thanks, Donna. This means so much to me.

  4. Hannah comes to visit once in a while. Or, at least, we feel so close to her, it’s as if she’s with us. I always feel such peace when those infrequent moment occur.

    I’m devastated about the little angel. It’s those thoughtless acts that hurt the most.

    I’m so sorry your pastor has suffered such loss as well, and yet, there must be something comforting in being able to talk about your feelings with him and have him understand.

    Holding you close in my heart tonight and sending you hugs,

    Thanks Rach. I am so glad I found you on the net! Hugs back at you.

  5. I too have lost a child (brain tumor, he died at 8 months old after fighting the cancer for 7 months). It was 8 years ago this month. Your pastor is right, it does get easier – never easy. I kind of compare the loss to scarring on my heart. It will never go away, and sometimes it flares up and hurts horribly, but the hurt is fading with time. With time it is easier to remember more of the happy times. Initially I could tell you exactly how many days it had been since I had held him, for a long time even how many hours. Now I would tell you in years and maybe add the months.
    I still look at children who would be his age a little wistfully – how would he like this, would he look like his brothers or his sister, would he be riding a 2 wheel bike, etc etc. There will always be a Jonathan spot in my heart.
    My best advice is to be kind to yourself and not expect too much emotionally too soon. I too am a believer, I know where my son is for eternity and that eventually I will join him. But the fact remains that death was not a part of the Garden of Eden that we were created for. We were created for relationship with one another and God. Being part of this fallen world can really rot, and loosing a child really, really, really rots. Take the time to grieve. It is hard work and some days you will be up for it and other days you will not be able to face it. Give yourself permission both ways. I have told people that since our sons death I know both the deepest sadness and the truest joy I have ever felt. God does comfort!
    I didn’t read enough entries to know how old your boys are, but mine were 5 and 10 and my daughter was 12. They have all grieved in different ways and at different times. Sometimes I found this to be the hardest part – helping them when I felt so empty myself. If you need a stranger to talk to, I’m here!

  6. {hugs} Sumi. I wish I could do more.

  7. ((((Sumi)))). I miss you. I think that I would have wanted to throw something at the lawn mower guy too. I am glad that you had a nice lunch with your hubby.

    Praying for you.


  8. Sumi, I love reading about your thoughts, and your honesty is so refreshing. You are in my thoughts and prayers so often. There is no one who can fully understand the pain unless he or she has gone through it. There are times when I cry out to God, and ask Him to comfort you.
    It is so difficult for me to imagine. I love you so much, and continue to lift you up in prayer. You are precious.

  9. I woke up thinking about you this morning and feeling like you need some extra prayers, so I will be lifting you up in prayer today.

  10. so hubby moved up a couple rungs on my favorites ladder last night – I shared some popcorn with him, and he gave me some kit kat!!! YUM.

    hope you’re feeling better – I missed hugging you yesterday.

  11. Still praying for you sweet Sumi. I love how you can so honestly put your feelings in a way that lets us feel your sorrow and hope all wrapped into one.

    You have a gift for stringing words together that will linger with us for a long time.

    Thank you for your amazing perspectives.

  12. Like I said before, I don’t know you, I don’t even know Rachel, but came here through her blog. Your posts always bless me so much. They remind me to treasure each moment with my two precious children more. They remind me that the frustrating moments are still gifts to be treasured. And they remind me to pray for those parents who no longer have the privileged of getting tired out by their precious children. They teach me lessons in how to minister to those in my real life who are hurting. Thank you for sharing your faith and your sweet Jenna with us all.

    A “friend” praying for you in MD

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