Trying to make sense out of my present emotional state is nearly impossible.
Why has God asked this of me? I have two widowed close friends but the rest of my friends are couples. What is my new role with them or is that gone too? I understand being “widowed” but I don’t want to accept the term “widow”… There is no future in the term “widow” and I have to believe in a future.
Questions, questions. I feel like Job. So I keep writing my stories, hoping their words reveal an insight that lay just hidden by my grief.
But oh, the emptiness of my home. I just wanted to pull a blanket over my head and have it all disappear.
Months later a friend shared with me that she had returned home one day to find her house empty. Her husband had just slipped out to the corner store. She said to herself “This is what it must be like for Pat, an empty house.”
So many empty things … the bed, the laundry basket, the dishwasher, even the fridge. Living for one instead of two makes changes that constantly reminds you …”He is not here … he is gone!”
The load of responsibilities now mine, exhausts me and I feel that making one more decision will make me disintegrate. Is God listening? In this big world of constant major disasters, does he see mine?
So I write and write, pouring out my attempts to see God in this confusion.
On the fridge door beside my photo of Harry, I tack up the words to Jeremiah 29:11. It speaks of hope and love and assurance that He has a plan for me. I cling to this, knowing His time line is not always mine … patience Pat, patience.
