Process Through Grief

Usually I love the On This Day app on Facebook. It's so fun to see what I posted in past years. It's been great to see posts I made about fun things my boys did when they were younger (and to get them in their baby books. That's something I could quite get done while chasing them around the house).

This week has been different.
This week has been a reminder of my mom's last week with us.

August 2, 2009
God hath not promised skies always blue, Flower-strewn pathways all our lives through; God hath not promised sun without rain, Joy without sorrow, peace without pain. BUT God hath promised strength for the day, Rest for the labor, light for the way, Grace

August 3, 2009
When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows rolls. What ever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, "It is well, It is well with my soul"...Easier said than done, but I'm trying.

August 4, 2009
Mom has taken a turn. The Hospice nurse thinks it'll be days. Thank you so much for all your prayers. They are carrying us through.


When I made these posts, I didn't know she would go so soon.
I didn't know this posts would follow.

August 6, 2009
Carole C. Schrade passed away peacefully yesterday (8/5/09) morning. She was surrounded by family...

When today's On This Day came up I thought it was interesting to see my process through grief.

August 5, 2010
Breckenridge Orchestra salute to Rodgers & Hammerstein has been a great (& tearful) way to remember my mom.

August 5, 2011
thinking about my mom. can't believe it's been two years.

August 5, 2012
Silence

August 5, 2013
Four years ago today my mom lost her battle with cancer. It is, of course, not the outcome I would have chosen. However, I'm amazed at all I've learned about my mom and myself in these four years. I've also experience relationship with the Lord in unimaginable intimate ways. So, even though I wouldn't have chosen it, I'm thankful for what I've learned from it.

August 5, 2014
All things work for good...

August 5, 2015
Six years ago today my mom lost her battle with uterine cancer.
Six years ago she received the most amazing healing of heaven.
I miss her everyday, but have found these two things to be thankful for:
1. Grieving my mom's death was hard because I had a good relationship with her. I didn't have to grieve for things left unsaid or unsettled.
2. In the process of my grief, I have come to know the Lord so intimately. In those early days of grief when the pain was raw, He showed himself in a thousand ways. He took, still takes, each step with me. I can say from deep within my soul, "the Lord is good".

It took me two years to begin to feel like myself again.
It took four year before I began to come to terms with my loss.

The latest lesson I've learned is recognizing grief when it comes and allowing myself to go through it. I haven't had another loss like my mom dying (thank God), but when friends move to the other end of the country, when co workers move on to different opportunities, even when I'm not able to make it to a party where I know all my friends will be. I allow myself to grieve.

Grief has been a companion for many years. I fought against her company, but I have come to accept she's always with me.

I can honestly say thankful for what she's taught me about myself and my God.

So I will share this on Facebook and next year when On This Day shows me this post, I will be reminded. I will be reminded of my process through grief.

I see you

Six months ago I took this picture.

Six months ago I made a commitment. I made commitment to let myself to be seen

really seen

Six months ago I made a commitment to see others. To say to them in either word or deed,

I see you.

I see you.

I gotta be honest with you. It's not been easy. I still have many days of hiding myself, making myself invisible, not letting myself be seen.

What I've noticed lately is how little I really see others around me.

During a conversation with a friend about the homeless, those begging for help. I heard myself say I heard myself reveal the darkness in my heart

Oh, I don't really see them. I don't see them.

Oh the darkness in my heart.

Today was a different kind of day.

Maybe it was grace.

Maybe it was the feeling of swimming in a familiar lake of grief,

marinating in my sadness and loss.

Today was a different kind of day.

Distracted by my self, my loss, my grief, my stress, my schedule I found myself not realizing the drive thru line had moved forward. The rumble and rev of the engine behind me jolted me back into the reality I was desperately trying to avoid, to escape. As I glanced into my rearview mirror, I saw their faces, hanging low. They looked tired, worn out. Heads hanging at the end of bent necks.

Pay for their order a familiar whisper came to me. My heart began to pound.

Pay for their order the whisper nudged. I'm learning to be obedient to the familiar whisper. The more I turn my ear to it, the more I hear it. The more I obey it, the easier it's become to recognize.

$7.18

Their order was $7.18. I rushed to the next window to claim my order and make an attempt to disappear before they realized, before they understood what's happened.

As I glanced again in the rearview mirror, I saw hands and arms reaching and waving thank you. The bright sun hid their faces, hid the heads that had hung low.

I made my way to the stoplight thinking it was done, but then I heard the rumble and rev of the engine again as they pulled along side me.

Windows down so I could hear, so I could see.

Heads that had hung low from bent necks were now held high.

At the end of extended arms were cups held high.

Smiles so bright.

So much joy.

Wet joy and thanksgiving began to pour from my eyes.

I got to be apart of this. I was seen and nudged to act.

I saw them.

I saw them.

What if you did that? What if everyday by word or deed you let someone know

I see you.

Isn't that what everyone is searching for?

To be seen.

To be seen for who they are

Not for their job, their gender or their skin

But for who they are

What if you stopped and let someone know

I see you.