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.