Young ladies, this is what you want to look for in a husband. Those 'goals' you speak of, this should be one of them. There's also a lesson in here. Pay attention. Young men, you could learn a lesson here as well.
As you know, the past two weeks have been awful for me. I lost a close friend, and I pretty much ceased being able to function. Depression and grief have gotten the best of me, and even if I could function, I haven't wanted to. I haven't even wanted to.
I miss my friend. Selfishly, I wasn't ready for her to be gone. I wasn't finished. I'm not finished being her friend. I'm not finished with her being my friend. I need her a bit longer. I remember how hard I hugged her last time I saw her, and I just want another chance to hug her like that again. Everyone should be hugged that way. Everyone deserves to be hugged that way. I love her so much and I'm just not ready for good-bye. She is missing from this earth and I'm not ready for that.
Grief has such a tight grip on me, I am living with my head down, not making eye contact, begging people, with my body language, to please not ask me how I'm doing. I can't ask even my closest friends how they are doing because I don't have the emotional space, the mental space, the physical space to give to them right now--and I feel awful about it. I apologize to them; this is not the person I am, not the person I've ever wanted to be--I'm the person who helps others, who helps strangers, who is first to ask what my friends need, and suddenly, I can't think or feel beyond myself. I've let my family and my friends down. I can't get it together. I HURT. I ACHE. There is a deep moan within me I need to give voice to but I don't dare.
Shawn has been my slow and steady rock throughout this entire ordeal. Everything he has done, has been with the best intentions about my feelings and well-being. He single-handedly pulled off Christmas for three kids, with three kids, all while trying to keep me from completely falling apart: our Christmas Eve tradition (which I could not take part in because hearing my grandmother's voice would have completely sent me over the edge), the Christmas Day meal (he even made from-scratch gravy), the house cleaning, the stockings, wrapping the gifts and getting them under the tree, and a million and one other details. That is no small feat.
May I digress for just a moment? I want to address the many memes and complaints about husbands that littered social media during the Christmas season. They saddened me, frustrated me, and, most of all, angered me. If there is a problem in your marriage, social media is the last place to address it--especially in the name of likes, giggles, laughs and social media notoriety. If you don't feel as though your husband isn't helping enough, or at all, or doing things to your liking, or whatever the problem is--perhaps try communicating? Or perhaps try praising him and thanking him for how hard he works for you and your family
When Christmas was over, knowing I could look at it any longer, he quickly boxed it all back up and put the house back to right.
On the days I just can't function, he helps me shower, helps me dress and he combs my hair. If I don't shower and I'm still in my pjs when he gets home from work, and my pillows are the on the couch, he doesn't judge or say anything. He does it all with love, never once complaining. He cleans the house, takes care of the kids, cooks the meals, allows me to shut down when I need to. He makes sure I'm eating, and keeps all of us on our schedules.
I put my head to his chest, just needing to hear the reassuring sound of his heartbeat, steady, strong and there. I hug him and he holds me and I cry and I thank him for everything he is doing. I tuck my head under his chin, and I feel safe.
Shawn runs interference for me as much as possible, when and where he can, even taking the kids to school for me, going into work late, so I can arrive late, having to interact as little as possible. It is impossible for me to answer the question, "How are you doing," so if he is with me, he handles it. Otherwise, I keep my head down, shake my head and and wave my hand--then I race to the bathroom to either try to stop the tears, or let the tears and sobs flow into whatever napkins, towels and tissues I can find. Internally, I beg them to just read my blog. Then, they will know just how I'm doing.
Today, we had to go to a funeral for one of Shawn's family members. A woman I'd never met. I barely sat down, read the funeral card--and my sobs started. We sat in the very back, and I did my best to keep my wails silent into my husband's chest. I apologized to him later, telling him I hoped I didn't embarrass him. "Babe, you need to get this stuff out. I understand. I know. I knew it was going to happen. I knew this would be hard for you. It's okay," as he squeezed my hand. He was even willing to go by himself, but I couldn't do that to him. He sat there, holding me so tight, not saying a thing, just letting me let it all out.
The Sunday after my friend died, we both agreed I needed to be in church, but we sat in the back row, in case I needed to make a hasty exit, Shawn, Avery, and Noah flanking me, protectively. I barely sat down before my tears started. It was the day before Christmas Eve; I didn't want to be part of the festivities and the hype and the glow and the decorations and the happiness. I wanted none of it. My tears turned to sobs as praise and worship began, and I buried my face in my husband. My sobs turned to wails as they sang it is well with their souls, and I wanted to scream, "NO, NO IT IS NOT WELL WITH MY SOUL!" I could no longer hold myself up, and my wails became that guttural wail that is partially noise and partially just absent gasping for air. My husband held me up as my legs let go, ushering me out of the church, protecting me. In all of my life, I never have wanted anyone else so strong, physically and emotionally, talking me and walking me through that moment. Singing that song so fervently and devoutly before, I've wondered what would make it not well with my soul. I've prayed that through no matter what, God would help me see it well with my soul. *now I know* I've always loved that song.
Shawn cannot take away my pain. I know he would in a heartbeat if he could. But he is doing everything he can to make sure the pain I'm feeling is the only thing I have to deal with right now. He knows my pain is harsh and cuts worse than a knife, he knows I would give almost anything to stop feeling right now--I'm feeling too much right now and I just can't handle it. I'm done with it. I would give almost anything to just be numb right now. He knows the kind of pain I'm going through, the questions and anguish I'm feeling. He even knows pain worse than I do. But he has been here for me every step of the way, and will continue to be. Every plan we've had, he's left up to me whether I want to go, leave early, or do something else entirely. He has held me close, and not taken it personally when I've pushed him away. He's talked about hope, and heaven and God and the day I'll get to see my friend again. He hasn't pushed me to 'get over it,' or told me I need to get myself together. He knows this sort of thing takes time, and even after the time it takes, it can still come back. Shawn has done all of this with love, incredible patience, and amazing gentleness.
He knows how deep my wound is, and he's handling me with the utmost of care.
