Six Months Ago

Tomorrow, August 22^nd, marks the six-month anniversary of Michael’s death.  Six months ago today, at this time, I was cooking what would be our last family dinner together.  Six months ago tonight, we shared our bed together for the last time. Six months ago tomorrow, I kissed him good -bye as he left after lunch for the last time. Six months ago tomorrow night, I said good night to him on the phone and told him I loved him, and heard him tell me he loved me, (just minutes before the accident)…. for the last time.  Six months ago tomorrow I saw his face for the last time. 

I cannot believe it has been six months.  It feels like last month, and yet so much has changed in the last six months. I have experienced countless “firsts”.  Every time I feel like a have climbed a new, strenuous mountain for the first time, I get to the top only to find another difficult mountain on the other side, with little or no descent before the next incline to the next first begins again.  I don’t always have time to catch my breath and gather my strength before I must face a new first. It is like this endless, steep staircase that has small landings every once in awhile for a very short reprieve, then I must begin the next ascent.  The mountains, or steps, continue to be placed before me.  Some of them occur in multiple fast succession, while others take longer to reach just one.  Some days have more than one; others may take a couple of weeks to overcome one. This past week was multiple succession of firsts and other hard situations…. handling a tough conversation on the phone, without Michael’s help or hand, with Keagan’s birth mother about the security of her boys and questioning her wisdom in her recent decision to quit her job and leave Keagan’s father.  Getting the email and phone call from the funeral home that Michael’s headstone had been placed at the gravesite and that I needed to come to the cemetery to tell them how to place the bench I had ordered near his grave.  Making a decision to keep our Polaris Ranger and flatbed trailer that Michael had purchased for him to enjoy with the children while “playing” in the woods, and then stressfully pulling it behind our car to a friend’s house in the country to store it.  Cooking for the first time, for real.  Taking Mia to college without Michael. (This was the reason I cooked.  I made a full meal of everything she wanted me to cook on our last night to have her at our table before becoming a college student.)  Being awoken late at night, after finally falling asleep, by Michael Anthony, who needed to talk in order to unload his heart, be reassured that Jesus loved him, cry, ask for forgiveness, and miss his dad. This all took place in three days….. just three of the days within the last six months.

Six months ago tomorrow, my prayer life changed.  I used to pray daily, from my heart, and out loud while sitting up in my bed every morning, both scriptural prayers and my own prayers.  I would pray, listen, and sometimes sing quietly, if a song rose in my heart.  For six months, all of that changed.  I couldn’t pray.  I did not know what to say.  I read scriptures, meditated on them, and cried out to God in my heart, without speaking a word aloud.  David’s prayers in the Old Testament were my prayers.  I wanted to be slow to speak and quick to listen, but at the same time, my heart, His Spirit inside of me, spoke to Him continually.  I know this to be true. We have had a silent relationship these last six months.  It was an understood silent conversation.  We have been present to one another but have not spoken much.  Many people have been interceding on my behalf, praying for me because I have been too weak to pray for myself.  It reminds me of Moses in the Old Testament.  The Israelites were fighting the Amalekites and could only defeat them if Moses held up his hands.  Exodus 17:12 says, “When Moses’ hands grew tired, they took a stone and put it under him and he sat on it.  Aaron and Hur held his hands up – one on one side, one on the other – so that his hands remained steady till sunset. “  Like Aaron and Hur, my friends, and those whom I have never met, have been holding up my hands so that I can win this battle, in spite of my weakness. One night, last week, I fell into bed after turning off my light and just needed to talk to Him, out loud and on my bed…. it was through tears that I was able to speak to Him….

Oh dear Jesus….I have missed you….I love you….I need you.  Come to me now. Help me.  I have missed talking to you.  I want what we had before.  Be my Lord.  Be Lord over my heart.  Be Lord over this house.  Be Lord over my children.  Be Lord over their thoughts and their hearts.  Be Lord over their actions.  Protect their hearts.  Keep them set apart for your purposes.  I pray Your kingdom power into our lives…. not my will, but your will be done in our lives….. Lord, I don’t understand.  Give me the grace to carry on with strength.  What do you see in me that I can’t see in myself?  What are you working through me through this awful time of suffering?  I am trusting you.  I lean on you….

Thank you…

Six months of not speaking to my two best friends and lovers of my soul.  I felt like I had collapsed at the first finish line that night in bed….a marathon broken up into parts.  Many parts to go with varying distances.  Hopefully,  the worst has past being the first six months. I am not a believer that you need just one year.  I think it may be closer to two, for the real hard things. I may write about that soon.  For now, I know I have missed  my Michael every minute of every day for six months, but God has been with me every minute of every day.