Usually I make a plan for this worst week ever. My August plans for Yellowstone were dashed by this incorrigible virus; profound loneliness seems my current destination. This go-around with my ugly enemy is crippling. I flirted with abandoning all rational thought; I even began equipping my small SUV for a solo trip to wherever. 

After realizing my ensuing  insanity, I unpacked my car, then unloaded my pain at the waiting feet of Jesus. Oh, when will I learn to begin there?

So in the cool of this morning, I slipped on my running shoes and earbuds and started over.  I’ve been building a playlist for the hardest messes; Steffany Gretzinger tops that list. 

“You're always moving in the unseen                            The breath You exhale sustaining me

Before I call, You know my need
You're always going before me

I'm confident Your faithfulness will see me through
My soul can rest, my righteousness is found in You
With every moment left, in every borrowed breath, let this be true
That all my heart, for all my life, belongs to You

Your laughter scatters my enemies
You give me joy for my mourning
You lift my head so I can see
All of Heaven surrounding me

I won't win this battle with the strength in my own hands
You're the mountain-mover and only You can
I won't build my life on sinking sand
You're my hope forever, the rock where I stand”

I walked a little further this morning...at times almost a respectable jog...head lifted a little higher. 

Truth is, the longing for human interaction has no end in sight, but neither does His Presence. Jesus remains my one faithful, confident traveling companion. 

Day 76 of solitary lockdown...
The country’s gone mad. Briefly overshadowing the pandemic, injustice lays wide open, pain spills from protesters, and anarchists try to silence necessary voices with wanton violence. 
Oh, and a space rocket successfully launches from U.S. soil, a historic event that momentarily unites us. 
Maybe I don’t really want to re-emerge. 
Meanwhile, I’ve made peace with leaving my career and have officially resigned from a ministry limping on life support, not exactly a giant leap for mankind, but pretty big and courageous steps for me. 
So in the lonely hours, I finish a couple of courses to keep my license for volunteer work. (I suppose I’m not so brave; I’ve yet to entirely let go.)  I’m whittling down my tower of meant to read books and revisiting some old vinyls, the best friends I have in my present confinement. I miss glancing up from my page to share an interesting quote or sharing a memory evoked by the music, and mostly, debating the hard stuff of humanity.  If I could just remember there’s no one on the receiving end. 
I keep asking, Lord, how long?
I, too, may go mad. 

Week 10

I’m emerging from my loneliest week of this global lockdown...dark, empty days which almost strangled my soul. Truth be told, last week was not much different than most of the last seven years of singular living, but the inability to anesthetize this loneliness with external activity sheds an imposing spotlight on it. 
Anesthetic. Is that what I want when my world reopens? I don’t have a plan, but the present lack of a meaningful social structure is not an option going forward. This is not an indictment on current friendships; it’s a need to address my lack of social interaction: weekend dinners, church connections, travel mates. (Yes, travel will return.)
I know there are others in the same lane; I’ve heard the conversation. This serves as a launchpad for discussion of another pandemic. 

June’s almost over and I’ve glanced at this encouragement  in my hallway way too many times this month. And buried my head in the Truth pages, repeatedly  reminding myself I’m not alone; He lifts my head, my wings. 
But LORD, this is hard stuff to navigate. I’ve searched healthcare plans, home improvements, technology, finances. Sometimes, I just want to hand it off, glance over for a reassuring nod, make a decision together. I want another breathing human being to read the instructions alongside me or simply huff in unison when there are no clearcut steps. Learning curves bend easier when traveling in pairs. 
Yet, lessons have been learned: it’s okay for me to say no to more responsibility because solo decision-making takes energy and time, I don’t need to beat myself for not helping others every time I see a need (survival is my full-time mission) and sometimes, I just have to climb out on the shaky, scary limb. I think that’s called, Trust. 

My six prayer journals have grown to eight! I have two "adopted" grand boys that discovered my new colorful books and I asked if they would like me to fill ones with prayers for them. Big smiles and nods...
In my last post, I mentioned a pastor friend referring to loneliness as a gift. One week before Rob's cancer diagnosis, we attended our church's annual youth camp as sponsors. We always looked forward to Scot Pollok's messages. I don't think the video of that Wednesday night's sermon made it online, but it's embedded in my memory.  On that hot summer night, I clearly knew Scot's [God's] powerful message was directed at me. That's only happened a few times in my life and it would be affirmed in the hard days ahead. 
As I was unpacking storm boxes yesterday, a folded note with one of the quotes from that sermon, slipped out of a rescued book. No accident, I believe!

Loneliness is a gift because it gives you a chance to become very intimate with God.

When is the last time I embraced loneliness as an invitation for intimacy with my LORD?   Instead of struggling with my present loneliness, I wish to  cherish this uninterrupted time with Him. 

Lingering with God always spills over to others; like a seed germinating in the dark soil, intimacy with the Master eventually produces. 

My prayer: God grow something useful from the hours alone with You. May I become crazy jealous for our time together...

Loneliness...it is an insidious creature.

I'm not sure which has been the most debilitating, anxiety or loneliness. Moving back into the house has increased both; the battle continues.

A preacher friend once said, "Loneliness is a gift." 

I'm determined to discover the Gift Giver no matter how painful the journey.

Like many of my hard seasons, I'm risking exposure in this search; many walk the same path and together we might find goodness and treasure.

What if we trade loneliness for aloneness with the One and Only? 

I've been asking for a word of guidance, wisdom.

Not an antidote for loneliness, but a hope that my pastor friend is right...

Several days in, I already see opportunity in the lonely hours...PRAYER.

My pastor is preaching his heart out about intimacy with God through prayer. I'm joining him in this discipline.

I've started with six prayer journals, one for each grandchild. In those quiet hours, I'm devoting myself to praying for each one of my precious charges, building a spiritual trust fund for this future generation.

I'm confident the gifts will continue.

8 months later...

Don't push that publish button! Good thing I reconsidered, because my last uncensored post would have brought a mighty rescue team to my doorstep. 
My desperation over relentless Harvey decisions has caught up with me once again, but this time I can't dismiss it. I'm staring at depression and the soul bullies are madly at work; what has unleashed them?
Two giants: comparison and loneliness.
My builders are amazing! Their craftsmanship is impeccable, they build great things. But they are also sensitive to a woman trying to restore on a fixed income. They've saved my countertops, mended tile, found fixtures that haven't robbed my bank account. They've worked miracles and I will move into a beautiful, updated home that's perfect for the neighborhood and most importantly, me. So why do I find myself comparing my rebuild to the ones I see on social media? The gorgeous chandeliers, staircases, high end appliances... It's simple; I've invited in the comparison monster. You might say that's just human nature, I say it's a debilitating danger.  I almost lost sight of the original goal: restoration. (and yet, sometimes something extraordinary and new and better springs forth in putting the broken back together.)
 Thankfully, I have a great plan of action to fight this nasty bully: gratitude, name each provision one by one. It always licks the enemies.
However, I'm clueless how to fight goliath loneliness.
The isolation of living in an efficiency for eight months has taken its toll. And if I might be terribly honest, I feel like I've also lost my family in the storm. But most painful, the silence of Rob's absence is deafening. If you've walked the loss of the one who completes you, you will understand that no activity or friend ever quenches the thirst for your lost partner. We attempt to fill the void, but it's temporary.  Of course, I understand that only God truly satisfies, but He also recognizes our need for human intimacy. The trauma of Harvey has increased my need for someone to help share the highs and lows of this uninvited chapter.  So have the endless decisions!
So those soul bullies keep chipping away. What's wrong with you? Why can't you hang on to the ones you most love? Why are you so weak and indecisive? Where's your faith?  As my father in law used to quip about thoughts, "Your bees are swarming." So they are, Dad, and sometimes they sting. 
I don't have my routine wrap up today.  No angle, no wit. I just know I must walk this journey of loneliness for which I have so little understanding. I hate to camp here long, but I'll stay and listen and learn so it can be used, just like the other hard things.

I'll be home for Christmas...if only in my dreams. Bing's version is still the best and the sappy song gets me every time it plays. 
When my travel plans were thwarted, I picked up the pieces of my broken heart and asked God to make a way for me to be in my own home, if even for a couple of days. He did not disappoint. 
It took some creativity and resourcefulness since I have open walls, no water heater and little kitchen. 
I just wanted my home. I packed up my beautiful wreath from the preschool department, my hilarious Santa from the Rogers and paper goods and baby wipes.  (Yes, a girl still has to take some sort of a bath.) I bought a butterfly chair and stool from the local sporting goods store and some comfort food.

Now I'm not kidding myself, Christmas alone in a drafty, dirty structure is hard. Ask Mary; her Christmas nursery was similar. 

But if I've learned anything these last few years, it's to embrace the hard. Move through it. Let it teach you.
Are you asking the obvious; Why would you subject yourself to the loneliness of this kind of Christmas?
A thousand times I asked the same and a lot of other questions as well. God, why do hurting people have to hurt others? Hasn't there been enough loss? Should I move?  and even, Should I remarry?!?
Truth be told, I turned down a host of invitations to share in friends' family Christmases, but I knew I'd be even lonelier, missing my people, my grand babies.

I entered this crazy idea knowing one huge truth: We meet Jesus in the loneliest places. 

The entire advent season I came to Bethlehem to see and I knew I most likely would find a lot of Jesus on this most unusual Christmas Day.

He did not disappoint me. He wrote His NAME all over his birthday. He provided memories of a home filled with His love, the kindness of a Starbuck's employee when I realized I forgot the coffee, the solace of the Scriptures.  Sometimes, He's awfully hard to find in the flurry of holiday. Oh, but in the still...

I've lived long enough to realize Christmas plans can come crushing down...unexpected illness...unexpected loss...unexpected weather, so I don't bank my joy on one day anymore. 

Christmas joy is that hidden gift mistakenly left under the tree. Waiting to be unwrapped the day after and after and after. Waiting in the hard...waiting for a home.

Come, thou long expected Jesus,
born to set thy people free;
from our fears and sins release us,
let us find our rest in thee.
Israel's strength and consolation,
hope of all the earth thou art;
dear desire of every nation,
joy of every longing heart.

Charles Wesley

First day at the skilled nursing facility...May I have some towels to take a shower?
Nursing assistant replies: Oh, your next shower day is not until next Tuesday...and trots off! I won what would be one of many battles. I got my towels and relished the first hot water my skin had felt in over a week. 
Dignity! I almost lost it along with my independence during my 14 day stay at one of the best facilities in the city. 
God, what are you teaching me?
Many lessons... some through tears and frustration.

• People who have worked hard, served their country deserve respect and the right to retain control over their environment!
• The ill and injured need an advocate to preserve the above.
• Those in long-term care may need more visits than when hospitalized.
• Even 93 year olds want to go home.
• Kindness is a healing balm, easing pain and stress.

On a more personal note,

• I must accept the help of others.
• I cannot always repay those acts of kindness but I can pay them forward at a future date.
• A stash of goodies for the nursing staff makes for a pleasant stay!

The anger I mentioned in my earlier post surprised me at first. It wasn't really about the fall; it was the brutal realization that I was alone. Of course, I have friends that will do most anything for me and they did, but this loneliness was about family...no family waiting for me at home. That's all I wanted in life...to serve and enjoy my husband and family. That lost dream hurts worse than any broken bone. Unfortunately, I'm still wrestling with that angry grief. 
My stay forced me to stare at what the last season of my life might look like and it frightened me to the core. Even so, I saw a resiliency in many of my senior residents that I greatly admire and want to model as I age. I've been forced to look at my health habits, realizing fitness must move up my priority list. 
The Lord only knows what impact He made through me in the time I was there, but I hope the administration and nursing staff was reminded about both the big and little things that make a facility outstanding and my attempts to encourage others made a difference.

Weekends in any medical unit can be sub par, so as the first Saturday approached, I prayed for the gift of caring staff. My prayer was answered with this beautiful nurse who chooses to work double shifts every Saturday and Sunday. We've become friends who share the loss of our husbands. God is a good gift-giver!
I've been home for a week now; it's hard, but I have a renewed sense that I can get through anything if Christ is the center of it. 

They slip in gently and hold my hand, my sisters with their huge hearts and beautiful embraces.  The pew can easily be the loneliest of dwelling places, but these women sense my heartache and faithfully fill the empty spot that once was Rob's. They come from different aisles on different Sundays with  common purpose: to love me through this season. Joyce Landorf Heatherley calls them Balcony People, cheerleaders even in the darkest of times.    I keep coming because they keep coming. 

We have this one life to live, so we sow our dreams plenty. We plan, we persevere, headed for great harvest.

So how do we survive when there seems to be no yield?

No dream left of growing old together... no expected laughter of grandchildren...no sight of purpose in an unfamiliar land.

How do we breathe when the distance grows longer, the phone shouts silence, the loneliness sucks out the very oxygen that moves us? 

Best laid plans buried in a garden plot.

We grasp for the next of kin and realize they're sowing their own plans and we aren't a part of them.

How do we bury life-long dreams; is there even enough desire or energy to plant new ones?

  

My neighbor blurts out, "Don't you hate being a spare part?" She should know; she said goodbye to her cancer-filled husband two years ago. 
"Yes, my lovely British friend, oh yes."
Since I was seventeen, I've been part of a duo. I don't even remember solo, but I'm beginning to prefer it over threesome.
I work hard to avoid the latter, but sometimes life gets in the way. And I'm realizing like never before, we live in a couple-oriented world. Pairs trump; pairs sell!
I can't even get through a series of commercials without being bombarded with images of gray-haired couples lounging in outdoor bathtubs or ascending dance floors. (Maybe that says something about my T.V. viewing!)
Presently, I'm wading through the wedding season and learning it is the most difficult of all, again, a front row seat to watch all I have lost. 
I'm not complaining; I'm just observing one more complicated facet of this journey. But I am asking God to remind me of my true identity in Him, how to be courageous and trusting, and to help me thank Him for this unique gift, this opportunity to cling hard and know Christ in an inexplicable way.  
Will this spare part find her significance? I think so...
 Rob had an old Alfa Romeo and I remember how he would cheer when his mechanic secured an obscure part to get the old girl up and running again. Those parts were vital!
Up and running again...sounds awfully good!

Collateral loss

I unpack the losses. I discover grief magnified by the death of Rob, yet, I continue to see joy.
Staring at the assets and liabilities that refuse to budge, I concede that cheerful giving becomes...well, um...Complicated.  I can no longer give with abandon; I must now count the cost. I hate it!Two-thirds of the world needs one-third to give recklessly and suddenly I must hesitate. 
Joy comes from that?  Of course! My purse strings may have tightened, but time has become my friend; I have much to offer. My heart grows; I live the pain of those I will serve. I see giving in a much healthier way. Sure, money is useful for spreading Hope to a hurting world, but Jesus never once opened his wallet in the Red Letters. He opened himself. Thankfully, I can do both and the latter now has opportunity to flourish.
More painful loss...
Relationships...inevitable...death of a spouse is an uncomfortable place for most of us... it's perhaps, our greatest nightmare. Watching my eyes constantly fill with tears, hearing me mention our life in present tense, feeling my intense sadness proves too awkward, too exhausting and perhaps, even too dangerous for many of whom I've done life over the years.
But, there are always the "deeps"...the patient ones who don't run away; the courageous ones who hold on tight; they remain by my side and I am grateful. He even surprises and delights me with new friendships, ones that aren't wrapped up in memories.
And God reminds me; this really is our grief dance, just Him and me. Running to others seems easier, but, I know that only God can lead, can heal.
And then there is the greatest of collateral damage:
No full house. It's nothing new; It's just re-surfaced in greater proportion.  Rob and I knew long before his death that our family would not gather in our home as often as we would have hoped. Our children and their families are not close. Celebrations are now held with their other families and all our big plans for family cookouts and birthday parties in their childhood home never materialized.  That "Little House on the Prairie" family that we grew up with does not exist in the present. We built it, but they did not come.  Rob and I grieved together long enough; I must now accept it and begin to build a new normal.
This one stumps me; I can't fully name the joy in this loss, but I know it's here. God's presence fills my home and my heart and when I'm ready, new people will fill it as well. 
Joy in the losses.
This I know: I can travel lightly through them as long as I hand Him my grief. He will carry me. 
Yes, this I know

When the losses continue to pile...
He is enough
When my husband's death is not a bad dream...
He is enough
When I remain the "other"...
He is enough
When my maternal arms feel empty...
He is enough
When paper work never seems to end...
He is enough
When "firsts" prove too hard...
He is enough
When dreams fade...
He is enough
When the "all clear" is delayed another 6 months...
He is enough
Whatever may be...Jesus is enough

Silence hits like stark reality! No more daily checking the Caringbridge lifeline or the mailbox. Texts and online encouragement dwindles.  Life is returning to normal for family and friends, as it should. Adapting to my new normal is a lonely road.

We sit in silence for hours. A memory surfaces, we visit it briefly, then retreat to the quiet. What's left to say? I'll miss the warmth of his hand, the feel of my face against his chest. 
Darkness swallows me. Things are left undone. Friends ask to help, but I don't want the outside world to invade this precious time together as one. I fret! Will God grant us more time? Will our family wait too long to love once more? Days seem to race by and I can't stop time.

This fight against the Beast is a lonely one. I can't share Rob's pain or his search for what is ahead. I can't expect others to stop their own living to stand guard with us through every stomach ache, every infusion, every fear. The night watch is the loneliest...waiting for the 3:30 meds; watching a wracked husband finally drift off into peaceful sleep. A friend tells me loneliness is a gift from God, a time to enter the intimate space with the relationship Maker.  My head and heart agree, but I'm too exhausted to speak with or to cry to the One who goes before me and secures the rear. My Father and I, we sit. I stare into the darkness and He watches over Rob and me. And He whispers that Jesus is the One who looks upon with great compassion. He quietly reminds me that there are His faithful few pleading in these early hours.