This sixth anniversary of the loss of Chris crept up on me. I
had only one fleeting thought of its approach earlier this week. How different
from previous years! I wonder what's changed? How can the pain that nearly
shattered me before have faded into barely an ache?
I know that healing comes with time. I know that my God has
bound up my fractured heart. And I know that I have good and sweet man in my
life. I have been given new life and new love. My neighbor and dear friend said
to me today, “The soul is deeply spiritual, and it is either slowly
strengthened after loss or it is gradually consumed by longing for the past.” I
am being slowly strengthened, and today I feel a bit confused by all the
healing that has come. Confused and maybe a little guilty.
For the first time since Chris died, I chose not to
reminisce over the days leading up to his death. I just really wasn’t in the
mood for it. And for the first time, I chose not to come away and be alone. The
grief that compelled me to do those things seems to have lifted this year. I homeschooled
the kids and then took a walk by the sea and sat and drank coffee with my
husband—my NOW husband. He is my life now. He is my joy, and he holds my heart.
Yet Chris is not forgotten. His memory is tucked away in a quiet place in my heart—taking up just the right amount of space and leaving lots of
room for new love and life. I think often of his kindness and gentleness and
humor and passions, but those memories bring a smile rather than a looming
shadow of sorrow for my great loss. All is as it should be, and I rest in the
story that the Divine Writer is composing.
