The Dilemma

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It has been five months. When I say that, two things come to my mind- it feels like its been an eternity without him and at the same time it feels like the loss is still so fresh and new. I wrap my head around the fact that pregnancy last nine months, and A LOT can change in nine months. I can change a lot in nine months. I have found myself to be more empathetic. I realized how much I was living in motion versus the moment. I have found the people who truly care, the ones who go through the motions of “if you need anything”, and the ones who retreat or worse break under stress. Life just isn’t the same. Ten months ago I started a blog about my life celebrating as a WIFE and mother. It has now become a refuge for my thoughts as a widow, about to bring her second son into the world. I find the word “Jubilee” a very hard way to define my life. I hope one day again I can look at life and say just that definition, but today is not that day. I sit at the crossroads of death and life. There is a life growing inside of me. That life is half my husband. My husband who is no longer here. My husband who won’t be there to give me the wow look when he is born. My husband was ecstatic when he found out we were having another child, even more ecstatic when he found out we were having a boy. There is no “We” having this child. Although I feel Fareed’s presence, I am the only parent that will be in that delivery room. Nine months ago I would have scoffed or laughed in your face if you told me this would be life. Things like this didn’t happen to people like us, or so we all think.

It amazes me how much hope I have in such a dark season of life. The odd part is, this is such a blessed season of life as well. Life is growing inside of me. I just don’t know how to wrap my head around both those concepts. In the coming weeks I hope that I can do just that. I sit here wondering why the world has to be like this. Why are people born with genetic heart defects? How can they go 31 years without being detected? Why do some parents outlive their children? Why must we lose the people we love? Why will a son be born without a dad? Why is a widow weeping for her beautiful husband who was unfairly ripped from her? Why does another son have to search for his father that will never return? But then, their are glimpses of hope. There is a kick from a human being about to come into this crazy world. There is a little boy who hugs his mom dearly, running to her in pure delight. There are friends who gather, in truth and in love, to support one another. Those tiny glimpses of joy keep me going. The big picture is just to much to wrap my head around.

It’s been five months. A couple weeks ago we were supposed to discuss in church what the hardest thing we had ever done was. I couldn’t speak. I knew in the depths of my soul the answer to that question but I decided to talk about the other people’s wedding plans instead. I even talked of my wedding and all the planning that went into it. I fought back the tears, but I couldn’t lay on these people the weight of that. The weight that the hardest thing I had ever done was laying my husband and father of my children to rest. This happens quite often. Our dogs vet asked about my husband. I told him all about him, like it was five months ago. I told him where he once worked, and all the amazing things he does. I told him as if he was still here, still doing those exact things. A lady at the furniture store made a remark that my husband must be so proud because I’m all belly and didn’t look like I was carrying a lot of baby weight. I just smiled and said he was. The lady who sat beside me during pedicures and said my husband must spoil me, I just smiled and said he sure does. I really wanted to cry and say YES YES HE DID! There are times I can’t even respond. The nurse who asked where daddy was today, or the lady at the store who said he must be golfing. Sorry I just walked away. I swear I’m not rude, I just didn’t know how to lay on a complete stranger that our daddy and husband are never coming home.

I wonder if it gets old to the people around me, the sadness. I know it’s been five months but I can’t even tell a stranger my husband passed away, I am in no way ready to move forward. I want to keep his spirit alive, but I’m fighting to keep my happiness to. Grief is such a mess. Half the time I am apologizing to the people around me for being lost in thought, the other half I’m upset they aren’t lost in thought with me. People have told me the stranger situation would be easier if I quit wearing my wedding ring. People would be less likely to ask about my husband if they didn’t see my ring. The dilemma, I want them to ask about my husband! I just can’t give them the answers they are asking about. I read in a widow book that you will know when to remove your ring, there will come a day you no longer feel married and that you feel very much a widow. That definitely isn’t today. I still feel very much married. There are days I catch myself thinking he will walk in the front door. Five months isn’t very long, but a lot can change in nine. Maybe it is the fact that the human being inside of me is half him. I still hold on so tightly because his last gift to our family is growing, right there under my heart.
“For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest.. A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance.” Ecclesiastes 3: 1-2 & 4
I think my dilemma comes that this season is a time for almost all of these activities. Most seasons of my life have had very definitive attributes until now. I am learning what it means to dance while I grieve, to laugh while I am sad. I am grasping in my heart what it means to bring a life into this world without the other half that gave him life. I am wrapping my head around the fact that nine months ago this baby was made in so much love. And just nine months later half of that is gone. It truly is a season to mourn and a season to rejoice. It is a season of growth and a season of grace.

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