Thursday, September 1, 2016

finding rest

an envelope arrived yesterday from the director of the crematory that assisted us in the days following my husband's unexpected death. at first, i did not want to open it, though its thickness indicated it contained material intended to help me, the grieving person. the envelope rests on the kitchen counter for a time, then i retrieve the letter opener - neatness counts - slit open the envelope, remove its contents and read the cover letter. "Dear Renee, During grief, some days are just harder than others. This brochure gives ideas for getting the most from the toughest ones..." 

something in the words acknowledging the toughest days is soothing to my soul. i read every word of the first 8 pages, skip page 9 - a list of books - and move onto the brochure. reading each paragraph, i nod my head in recognition. yes, me too. yes. yes.

note to self: the author of the brochure is the writer whose book you didn't buy, seeking instead to purchase the book by the female author. me being me. predictable. more

the apartment is sometimes empty and unwelcoming. my husband is not here. i am living without sufficient rest. sleeping during the day is easy enough especially the 3 days each week i work overnights. getting into bed alone at a normal time on a normal night triggers weeping. i toss and turn. the sleep that once came so naturally is now illusive. my soul grows weary.

at the same time, i am 3 journals and 3 blogs into this journey. last night i submitted a piece to Red Tent Living for possible publication, something i haven't done in months more. i am weaving together thoughts and words in coherent fashion. i am writing and that signals i am on the road to recovering, to finding my new normal. breakfast with a friend has resumed at Chickadee's; coffee, strategic planning, shared love of God's word with friend-and-pastor has begun again at Caribou. 

today is day 84 and there is renewed hope that someday i will find rest.


God heals the brokenhearted
    and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3