Back in the sadddle

I still know how to turn on my computer, I found the refrigerator for my lunchtime salad, and I remembered all the names of the Sending Center staff. Thus, it was a successful first day back in the saddle.

Seriously, this evening I read an article on grief my friend David Powlison had sent me. He discussed how sin often follows "curving in ourselves." The sadness of mourning can leave us vulnerable to selfish preoccupation if left unchecked. Sitting alone in the house is good for a season. But prolonged seclusion does tend to take me deep inside myself. So, it was good to be back at work, engaging the cause that consumed Nancy and me for 35 years: the expansion of the Kingdom.

Surely, I limped through the day. I hope to walk again soon. Pray that I walk in HIS footsteps.

A new week awaits

It's been a tough weekend. I spent lots of time alone since KJ was in NYC visiting friends. The house feels "booby trapped." Everything here makes me think of Nancy. It will take a while to figure out how to walk through this minefield of memories.

Meanwhile, I will head back into the office tomorrow. It's time. I will have to learn how to navigate work as I face ongoing reminders of our many years of working together under the WHM Banner. But I must walk into the minefields if I am going to move into the future.

Grandparenting Alone

The picture of Jonah on Hat Day at Playschool got me thinking.

Nancy was a great "Amma." She spent countless hours on the floor with her grand kids. Even after she got really sick, she would light up at the mention of "Lu-Lu" or Micah's impending arrival. Near the end, she grieved her inability to do things with the kids anymore.

Now, it would seem, I have to "pick up the grand parenting" thing for my departed buddy. As my friend Marc reminded me, it's important for me to get all the birthdays onto the calendar, handle the shopping, and keep in touch.

Years, ago I embraced the calling to pass the baton to a new generation. Being "Ampa" without "Amma" is one of the ways for that calling to unfold.

Closing the Red Notebook

This morning I awoke to a gloomy Friday forecast. The weather definitely caught the clouds of sadness that I have been carrying the past week or so. The word "aloneness" has emerged this week. So often I have felt alone.

It took about every ounce of will I had to open The Book to the Psalms. I forced myself to practice the act of reading HIS words aloud to confront the silence and pain. For the first time I noticed how often the world "alone" popped up in Psalm 62. But it was always positioned right next to a name: GOD. We find rest, salvation, refuge and rest in God ALONE. This reminded me that "aloneness" can not overwhelm us if we are conscious of HIS presence.

Imperfectly and incompletely, I experienced his comfort, his refuge, his presence. Then, from that thought, I was lifted away from "abandonment" to land in a place of mystical wonder where I could begin to recite all the ways that Nancy had enriched my life. It didn't take long to list 24 ways in which HE had worked in and through her.


Another word came to me to describe our journey together: "GIFT" Something planned for us, not designed by us. Something received, not earned. Something shaped by HIM, the Giver of every perfect gift. Yep, this whole journey has been a gift 34 years in its delivery. Our courtship, marriage, child raising, life overseas, return to Philly, the kids' growth, graduations, marriages, grandchildren...and finally cancer and Nancy's final healing. Today I even embraced the idea that widowhood and grieving were also gifts to be received with thanks. Of course, all of this stuff bears the scars and imperfections of life in a fractured universe. But they are just appetizers as we await the Great Wedding Feast anyway.

With these reflections I finished the red notebook entitled, "Nancy's Journey Home." 240 pages are now filled with the joys and sorrows of that excursion. I will put it aside for the weekend. Later I will reopen it and decide whether there is a tale to recount somewhere. Four weeks ago tomorrow, Dan and Nancy's Journey ended. So, it is right to complete the notebook today. The first chapter in mourning her passing concluded today. There will be more grief passages to write in the days ahead.

Does OUR journey continue? In a real sense, I celebrate the knowledge that Nancy has arrived at the finish line. She finished that journey well. And yet our journey continues. I will continue this pilgrimage shaped by the lessons we learned together. Those memories remain. I intend to celebrate them.

Where's my alarm clock?

Earlier this month, I stopped by to see Nancy's oncologist to thank her, leave her a note, and to claim some more "closure." We greeted one another with surprising warmth, including an unprofessional hug. She told me that after she had picked a residency in oncology she lost her mother to cancer. So, we shared more than I had realized.

"Just keep getting out of bed everyday," she encouraged me. Her compassion touched me. But I didn't think that getting out of bed was going to be an issue for me. I was still working off a "transition list" and there was still a lot of incentive to keep going.

Well, that was then. The current "pain phase" could create the kind of paralysis Melanie foresaw. The idea of staying upstairs with the blinds down has crossed my mind a couple of times this week. I am not sure the universe would crash if I stayed in bed for most of a day, BUT going fetal for a month or so does not really seem like a real way to push through this part of the process.

What is going on? Well, I am very aware that I have completed a grueling phase of life. That I am spent. But there is more. There is pointlessness. I have talked about it before, but I do sense a real void. It is not all bad. There is joy and relief in being able to accurately announce "mission accomplished." We have cared for Nancy well and she is now safe at home.

Now I am just not sure what can justify getting back on the race track again. Yep, I am a church kid, and I know that I was serving God as I cared for my dear wife. He is still around, calling me to serve HIM. But, He hasn't really given me any new marching orders yet. So, there is nothing to move past the sense of loss that fills me each time I return from walking the dog. And I run to aimless, worthless regions of the universe to dull the pain.

So, what is the calling to one who grieves? Getting out of bed is probably good. It is time to return to work. To try to fill each day with Kingdom Labor is the call of His servants. But there is more. To wait, to mourn, to listen, to read the Psalms and expect that He will slowly, gently lead me toward the next phase of the journey.

Last year at this time, Nancy and I were asking HIM to show us what was next with Leah in Fulton, and KJ nearing graduation. HE took us down an unexpected path that we could not avoid. I am sure that the next phase of the mission will be equally surprising, equally unavoidable, equally of HIM.

It's not all about Dan

Last night when I was chatting with Leah about the challenges of managing her two four year olds, I was reminded that I am not the only person deeply impacted by Nancy's homegoing. Talking to me about raising a blended family was not the same for Leah as talking to Mom. As KJ sets up her study and contemplates producing a line of handbags for Elcye's she misses getting Nancy's creative output. And I think it is bittersweet for Josh and Anne to be nurturing baby Micah.

In many ways Nancy's gentle presence was the hub of our family. Pray for us "spokes" to keep rolling forward!

A New Phase

Okay, things changed this past week. And it was to be expected. The frantic activity of the days surrounding Nancy's death are behind me now. The first deflation and numbness are receding. My first thought is no longer, "I am exhausted." Now, I find myself thinking, "This hurts."

During Nancy's last weeks I rarely felt anything physically. I was gliding. Now a tightness in my neck and shoulders frequently captures my attention. Even releasing my sorrow brings pain, a sort of physical spasm.

My summer blog entries served to drain off some of the tension of living on a roller coaster. It was helpful to share the stress of the crisis with you as it unfolded. In contrast, much of the past week's writing has triggered pain. To record these memories I am revisiting some hard moments. I am picking at scabs. Even blogging doesn't bring the same relief as before.

So, why not "put down the pen and walk away?" First of all, I know that I must capture these memories while they are still vivid. I also recall my friend Ed's encouragement the night of the viewing: "Keep writing. Keep letting us know how to pray." But what to ask HIM for? I don't think my biggest need is for the immediate elimination of the pain I feel. This pain resembles the sensation you feel when the blood starts returning to a leg that has fallen asleep. I need to experience this discomfort in order to walk again some day. Ask, instead, that I will not try to dull the pain with artificial cures, to foolishly soothe myself. I need to learn how to take this pain to our Wise Family Physician, the One whose scar heals all wounds. At the same time, I need his protection to avoid twisting this whole exercise into an emotional martyrdom. He alone can tell me when it's time to close the journal and go for a walk, watch a Phillies game or consort with live humans. Ask HIM for HIS wisdom, protection and guidance as we navigate this phase. So, far HE has kept us safe through the some pretty deep waters.