Recently, I’ve had to talk back to myself... a lot!
I think the anticipation of turning 65, retirement age, without my partner has crushed me. All of our dreams, our plans sit in a pile, threatening to steal the joy that I’ve so pleaded for during my bouts of loneliness and depression.
 Today, I remind myself: my most expensive real estate is my mind. I can’t let anything or anyone stay there for free and I must capture destructive thoughts the moment they check-in and leave them with Christ. 
Presently, I’m wrestling with the idea of not holding on to those who let go of me a long time ago...that includes my late husband. Releasing him proves the hardest as there was no obvious toxicity in our relationship. However, the truth remains: he did let me go as he prepared to depart from this life and begin beyond. 
My retirement plans (emphasis on mine) included total immersion into the world of grandkids! Close proximity, much spoiling and teaching, relief for tired parents...that was not anyone else’s plan. I can’t find fault for we, too, chose the same with our own parents. It’s just harder on this end, isn’t it? And eternity together seems a long way off. What looms heaviest is they might forget my love for them. How will I leave a legacy they can touch?  
So much for rambling in the dark...in a strange manner, I welcome this painful season; I’m confident  this constant renewal of my mind is vital to an ongoing, growing walk with my Lord. 

 

Working through this messy journey of grief, I recognize I must deal with my unmet expectations of others.  In order to restore some of the lost intimacy in my upside down world, I naturally turn to relationships in which I am deeply rooted.  But intimacy requires a desire, a commitment from both parties which isn't always realized at the same intersection of life.

 So I begin the hard process of letting go of my plan. I accept that I have no control over the choices others make, but I do have control over my reaction to their choices. I don't have to hang on to hurt and disappointment.  Letting go allows God more room to fill my life with new purpose, passion and people, but mostly, Him.  And if His plans include some of those lives I so dearly cherish...well, then I'll be blessed all the more.

Today, I sold stock.  Did I just say that?
I still shake my head in disbelief that I'm even considering investment strategies and financial goals...not the skill set I thought I would be honing.  
 I knew it made sense to let go of some shares in order to take advantage of better income opportunities, but giving the green light made me sick. Not from fear or ignorance...purely from raw emotion; Rob and I invested our meek savings in this start-up Seattle company early in our marriage and selling even a fraction felt like letting go of a part of him. 
I don't surrender well. Like last fall when he was so ill...I remember that sinking feeling of knowing I could no longer hold on to him; I had to release him to God.  Yet, I thought I might just drown in all that surrender!

Stocks aren't the only things needing some paring, so does Rob's closet full of clothes.  My brain knows his wardrobe would serve other men well, but is my heart ready? I wonder if, like fall pruning, timing is critical in order to produce more health than harm. If I let go of them too early, will I regret that I can't take back that part of him? Maybe, I need to protect myself from any unnecessary exposure, any more damage. Will I ever be ready?


Culling is such a difficult part of grief work, but at some point, I must put aside a few cherished items that will preserve memories, but make room for new ones.
As I face the painful task of pruning the past, I'm reminded that "Christ is faithful as son over God's house. And we are his house, if we hold on to our courage and the hope of which we boast." Hebrews 3:6 NIV 1978 
Praying that I will hold on tightly to courage and hope, the things of faith.