Hard

Life is never simple.  6 days after my last post, my dad passed away.  It's been 3.5 months.  Some days it is easier to bear than others.  The kids and home life keep me busy, but the hole and  the grief is still there.  It's always the odd moments when the reality of his death sneaks up on me, thundering like a wave and threatening to knock me off my feet.  

Often, it's something the kids say.  Or I'll burst into tears when I'm in the shower.  Or when I know my mom needs help and it's just not something we can do.  

I thought I was doing 'okay' when my husband's grandma when into the hospital.  She's getting on in years and is poor health at the best of times, so it was unsurprising when she was hospitalized.  At the same city hospital we took my dad.  And then she got worse.  Like my dad.  And ended up in ICU with pneumonia.  Like my dad.  We went up to be with the family and see her.  She was in the room right beside the one where my father died.  

Walking past the same nurses, the familiar sounds and smells.  It was just too much.  Walking past his room.  It took my breath away.  It was as if we were right back there going through it all again.  Making the decision at his bedside to turn off life support when nothing further could be done.  Keeping him tethered to this world  when we all knew the world that awaited him on the other side was so much better.  Sitting there as his breathing and pulse slowed.  And slowed.  And slowed some more.  Until it ceased.  Explaining to the kids.  Walking up to the casket for the first time... and the last.  Clinging to my brother as we cried at the end of the funeral.  Full military honors at the cemetery.  The presenting of the flag.  And the aching emptiness that follows.  

Trusting the Lord through it all, in spite of the heartache.  Or perhaps because of it.  Knowing His promises are true, His time perfect, and His love everlasting.  Seeing Him work in our lives (and the lives of others) in our darkest hour.  I'm not used to being on the receiving end of the prayers, the support, the help and outpouring of love that the Church shows to the hurting.  I much prefer to be the one giving.  It is an experience to learn from.  Humbling.  Growing us.  The breaking of our hearts.  The breaking of the mold.  Being remade and renewed.  Coming out on the other side.  

Deep breath.  It's nearly spring.  Creation is waking from it's rest.  A quiet time.  Ecclisiastes 3:1-4 says, 

 "There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance"

I am looking forward to dancing.