Dance With Me

I recently went to dinner with a dear friend on the one year anniversary of her fiance’s death. We went to his favorite restaurant, ordered his favorite appetizer, enjoyed his favorite entree and ate dessert in his memory. It was a special time, and I was honored to be included in her night as she experienced the weight of what this day meant–365 days without her person.

As I sat there with her that night, I could not help but think about what is looming ahead for me as well. In the coming weeks, it will be my turn. I will reach the day–365 days without my person.

In this journey I never asked for or wanted to walk, the one-year mark is like a destination that has constantly been on the horizon. With each passing day–the ordinary ones, the holidays, the special occasions–the destination has inched closer. It is a place that everyone who experiences a significant loss must reach. One year. When all of the firsts are finally behind you. 

I remember being completely overwhelmed on that day. I was in shock, encumbered in grief and pain. I was drowning in fear. How will I do this? How are my children going to handle this? How will I have the strength to carry on? What is my life going to look like? How will we celebrate birthdays and holidays without him? Am I going to survive? Will I ever be able to sleep again? Will I laugh again? Is it okay if I smile? 

The one year anniversary of Tensey’s death has felt like a place, a goal, a target that has held my focus. If I could just get there, I would tell myself. 

And now that there is so close, what does it mean to have arrived? What once seemed so far away, is finally within reach. I know now that grief will never be over. But the one-year mark does feel like something has come to an end. For me, it is the end of the unknown and all of those firsts. Many of the questions that swirled around me on that dreadful day almost one year ago have been answered. 

I survived. My children are thriving. My granddaughters are growing. I found the strength. I have slept. I have laughed and I have definitely smiled. 

As this one year date approaches, I have spent so much time thinking about Tensey and what I miss about him the most. I did not know how to articulate it exactly. And then I saw it on Instagram. A reel of this couple in Alaska. The camera on their front porch captured her as she was walking up the snowy steps carrying groceries. She slips and falls to the ground–groceries everywhere. She starts crying and screaming for her husband. He opens the door, music is playing from the house, and he looks at her and says, “Dance with me.” 

In the middle of the snow and cold, amidst strewn groceries and spilled milk, he danced with her. It wasn’t about the groceries all over the porch or the mess; it was just about her. Soon she was smiling and laughing. He made everything better. 

And I thought, that’s it. That is what I miss the most about Tensey. He made everything better. With all of my faults and failures in life. On all of my worst days and even on my best days, Tensey was always there saying, “Dance with me.” 

As life moves forward and my children and I carry on, and as that one-year mark arrives, I close my eyes and I can see Tensey reaching for me. I hear him.

Dance with me, Michelle.

And, I know I will again one day. 

Never Looking Away

Tensey and I were together from March 17, 1993 until he took his last breath on March 29, 2024. 

From beginning to end, it was 31 years, 1 week and 5 days. 11,327 days in all. 271,848 hours. 16,310,880 minutes. That is a lot of life. 

Today, November 23, 2024, would have been our 28th wedding anniversary. Since his passing, I have spent a lot of time thinking about those years and those days, and what made them so special. Like every marriage, we went through seasons–both good and bad. We were not immune to the ebb and flow of life and all that it brings. In good and bad times, we always kept going. And, I have come to realize that maybe we kept going not only because we loved each other, but also because we never lost sight of each other. We just kept looking at each other.

One of my favorite memories of Tensey is actually before we were a couple. As a recent college graduate with my first real job at a newspaper, I met a cute, popular sportswriter. At that time, Tensey was rough around the edges–smoked a pack a day, enjoyed going to the bar after work and had the eye of lots of young women. And, I was completely drawn to him. There was something about his untamed, but calm and steady demeanor that made me want to be around him. 

I remember when my friend and I went to a popular college bar one night after dinner. The bar was full, and yet, I got an overwhelming feeling that someone was looking at me. I looked around, and there he was. Sitting at the bar.  His eyes locked on me. Tensey was staring at me while taking drags on his cigarette. I thought he would look away when he realized I saw him–but he didn’t. I looked at him and smiled and then quickly looked away. I glanced beside me and behind me to make sure he was really looking at me. My eyes returned to him, and he was still staring. There we were, in the middle of this bar, gazing at each other. 

He never looked away. 

Even though we were surrounded by people, noise, and music, he looked at me like I was the only person in the room; like it was just the two of us. The look was so focused; I could actually feel it. And, all these years later, I still think about that moment. How I felt, and honestly, how that defined our life together: Tensey never looked away.

Over these past months, I have spent time pouring over pictures, and I have watched our wedding video several times. The video includes interviews with family and friends. Tensey is also interviewed about how we met and about our future together. In describing our relationship early on, he says, “She had just gotten out of college, looking for something to do. And, I was just looking at her.” What a treasure to hear his voice and to hear, even now, how well he captured the essence of who we were as a couple.

We kept our eyes on each other. Whether in a room full of people or just in the chaos of daily life, I always felt like I did that night when I saw him sitting at the bar all those years ago. Like I was the only other person in the room. Like it was just the two of us.

Thank you, TGP, for our life, for our children. I do not know what is in store for me in the next chapters of my life. But, I do know that in the full story of my life, the chapters of building a life and a family will always belong to you. 

And, I know that we will be able to look at each other again one day. Until then, Happy Anniversary. Look at us. We did it–until death do us part. 

Thank you for loving me so well.

And, for choosing me every day for all those years. 

And, for never looking away. 

Six Months

I have crossed the six-month mark. Six months since I have seen Tensey’s face. Heard his voice. Touched him. It seems like yesterday, and yet, it seems like another lifetime. My life will forever be divided into before and after.

A dear friend sent me this picture recently, and it took my breath away. I remember that moment. It was surreal. I see myself–heartbroken, devastated and terrified. I remember standing there in the front row of the funeral, in utter despair and completely overwhelmed.

So many people have told me that I kept saying in those early days, “I don’t know how I am going to do this.”

And, I truly didn’t know.

I look at this picture, and although I know it is me, that woman feels like someone far away, almost someone I don’t know. That woman is somewhere between the before and the after. Still floating somewhere in the in-between existing on adrenaline, medication, sheer will and prayer. She is wrestling with God and the why of it all. She is weary from grief and decision making.

Today, six months later, I am standing fully in the after. So, what would I tell that woman in the picture?

I would begin by saying there will continue to be things you don’t know and don’t understand. But, you will be able to put one foot in front of the other and just do the next thing.

I would tell her…

…you will grieve his loss forever, and you will have to be both a grieving wife and the mother of two grieving children. You will have to carry the pain and the weight of it all. And, it will be hard. You will have to come to terms with everything you’ve lost. Not only his presence in your life, but also your family unit. And, growing old together.

…you have no idea how much you will be loved, carried, prayed over and supported as your walk continues. Flowers and food deliveries will end, but your friendships won’t end. You will see, feel and know the hands and feet of Christ in your life. Your best friends, your family and your work family will continue to show up day in and day out.

…the Christ-like qualities you always saw in Tensey–goodness, kindness, humility, gentleness and his heart for service–will live on at The Dunham School through a named scholarship in his honor. You have no idea that one line in the obituary you write will lead to countless donations to honor Tensey’s life and to create a lasting legacy.

…you will come to understand in ways you could not imagine the impact that Tensey had on those he worked with and whose lives he touched through his career. You will be overwhelmed with pride, love and admiration when LWCC presents you with an amazing collection of photographs, stories and lessons learned from Tensey all bound in a beautifully designed book. And, it will bring you to tears each time you look at it.

…you will have many firsts. And, not just the first holidays or the first birthdays, but also the more insignificant firsts that people may not think about. The first time you’ll travel alone. Or, the first time you’ll go through a bad weather event. The first grocery store trip when you did not have to buy his Diet Dr. Pepper, the first time to have a flat tire, or the first time when you need to get something down from the attic. And, those firsts will each be an accomplishment.

…tears will continue to come. And, there will be hard days. But, there will also be joy and smiles. You will never move on, but you will be able to move forward.

…you can and will have a new life; a different life. Things will never be the same, and they really shouldn’t be. But, in this new life–in the after–you need to grab hold of the things that and the people who make you happy.

…the anger will subside and the wrestling will end. You will realize that as much as the Lord has a plan for your life and future, He had a plan for Tensey’s life, too. If you believe that God loves you, then you must accept that He loved Tensey, too. As time passes, you will begin to focus more on what Tensey has gained than what you have lost.

Today, I am standing, some days more steady than others, while balancing the joy and the pain. Holding them both, and looking ahead, reaching for what is to come at the same time I’m letting go of what was, and what was lost.

As I sat with my son recently, he reminded me again of the first days and weeks after Tensey passed how often I said out loud that I did not know how I was going to do this. And, my son said to me, “Mom, look at you–you are doing it.” Some days I do it better than others, but he’s right–I am doing it.

I read something recently that a widow posted. She wrote that she knew at some point in her grief she had to eventually return to the woman her husband fell in love with, and that resonated with me. Tensey would want that for me in this after chapter of my life.

And so, for Tensey, for our children and honestly, for me, I am doing just that.

The Power of Words

From an early age, I recognized the power in words; the weight they can carry. I also understood how they could come together to create a story that could connect and impact those who read them. I knew it as a reader, and I also knew that I had an overwhelming desire to be a part of that. To write.

To this day, I still have my backpack full of short stories and poems typed on a typewriter throughout my teenage years. Short stories, both typed and handwritten, stuffed into folders and old spiral notebooks. 

I have journals of phrases penned, quotes jotted down, letters written, and lists of writing ideas. 

Times have changed and spiral notebooks and typewriters have been replaced with Google Docs and the Notes section of my iPhone, but my desire to write things down, to create, has not changed. 

The past several years have been the most challenging of my life. There were times I found myself awake in the night, my mind racing with words and ideas. Other times I have been numb, and at a loss for words. And so, the urge to write was buried, maybe even seemingly lost.  

But, I still longed for a place to share my writings. A place where others could visit and maybe even connect in some way. So, I created my website–Foundations of Sapphires. 

It is through this site that I could share my story and in turn ask others to share theirs. Interestingly enough, during the most quiet and darkest time in my life, the connection through my site has been the loudest. 

In the past few months, I have heard from several people who found their way to my site by longing to learn more about sapphires. Whether the presence of sapphires in scripture or their healing powers, the search led them here and they have shared their stories with me. 

One woman wrote:

I'd love to tell you my story. But, this note isn't about me.

I was looking for a verse about the foundation of sapphire stones to share with a special friend who had never heard it.

I stumbled upon your blog. I've looked up verses so many times and this [is] truly the first time I came across a blog. So, I read it. Then I read more. You are a gifted writer. Your blogs stopped with the Queen.

I can't begin to know why. But, I do pray that you start writing again. This world, at this time needs your words of encouragement. Needs your transparency. It needs the 'real'.

We all go through heartache, agonizing grief and pain so unbearable you wonder if your breath will fail you.

If that is the cause of you no longer writing, then I encourage you to pick up your pen and write again. Tell your story again.

Wow–power in her words.

And, there were others. The woman who had been a victim of incest; struggling to feel beautiful and to accept the love from her husband. 

The woman who has become the caretaker of her mother suffering from dementia. Grieving her mother while she is still here.

The woman, estranged from her father for most of her life and whose mother was killed tragically in a car wreck by a drunk driver, who spiraled into depression and grief. 

She wrote, “I don’t even know your name. But I love your stories. I was just telling my story to my brother-in-law today. How God had promised me before my Mom died (unexpectedly) that he would give me foundations of sapphires.”

Through my darkness, these strangers have been a light and an inspiration to find my voice again. To find the words. And, to move forward with hope.

Details of my life and my story have been updated to reflect where I am now–today. Honestly, I don’t know about tomorrow, what it will bring, or when I will want to write something to post. But, I do know that I have this place, this website where I can share. And, so can others. 

My story continues.
The foundation remains.
The connection is real.
And the words carry on.