Now that I am several months into the second year following Ryan’s death, I am allowing myself to look backward and I can understand why people give that warning about the second year. I am not sure I agree with it, but I understand it. Part of it is that you are so insulated during that first year that the second year leaves a lot of the wounds wide open to feel more deeply. A little perspective, and a year of living without your beloved, makes your reality more real.
Last week was the first day of fall and as I placed a little pumpkin out on my porch, I remembered a post from a year ago during this same time of year (September 2016 post link) and I began to reflect over the emotions of this past year. Placing a pumpkin on my porch last year was a symbol of pain – the kids and I had just moved into our new home that last week of summer (we have now been in this house over a year now - wow!). Last September we were beginning to build a life moving forward – not because we wanted to, but simply because we had to. Fall was a beginning and it was the first new season that Ryan was not a part of. He had died just days into the summer of 2016, but was not ever a part of that autumn season. I have mentioned how those first few months after Ryan's death were a blur to me, I really do not remember most of last summer at all except random, unconnected snapshot memories. I think when we are in more pain than we can bear, God protects us with shock and numbness. It is like a bubble of grace holding us up to help us get through the toughest of times. We cannot remain in shock or live in that bubble forever, because we are not really living, but it can be a way to carry us forward until we can begin to find our footing and take steps again.
In hindsight, last year’s fall was tougher than the summer because I do not remember the summer very well. I was protected and cared for all last summer – both by God’s bubble of grace and by all the family and friends stepping in to do the things I could not do. Fall brought having to step out on my own and start to do things for myself again. It meant those precious others that held us up had to slowly return to their normal lives again. It meant acknowledging my pain, sitting in the loneliness, working through it all, and taking care of my children as a single parent. Autumn is also a transition into the season of holidays, which are supposed to be times of joy and family togetherness. How do you move into a season that celebrates all that goodness when you feel your joy is gone and your family is broken? But somehow, step by step, with God's abundant grace and comfort, I made it through each difficult day of last fall.
Winter and the new year brought a step out into making new friendships and connections with other homeschool mamas and by spring I was really feeling like I could be okay. I mean I survived the holidays and I even found joy in them somehow. God is so good. I felt stronger and I knew God was walking with me. So much so that I actually felt happy and alive again. I was able to attempt new friendships and I was finding myself, a very different me than I was before, but a more compassionate, more sensitive, and hopefully more reliant-on-God me. It felt good. It felt hopeful.
Several months later, just before the coming of summer, I met someone. I have been hesitant to type those words, for fear that I would be judged, mostly by my own self... Did she just say she met someone? A boyfriend? Do homeschool mothers actually date? Is it too soon? It’s only been a year, right? Does she love Ryan? What about the kids? etc… And my other fear is that it would not last and my heart would not be able to handle another break.
To answer those questions, yes, someone showed up who wanted to get to know me and I had a "boyfriend" (and I still cringe at those words because they still feel so weird and uncomfortable for me to say after 15 years of marriage). Yes, homeschool mothers can "date" - I am still trying to convince myself that I can use that word, although my grief therapist says that "single mothers do date and that is completely normal." Too soon? I don't know that there is ever any set timetable for that - I met someone who was sweet and caring and compassionate and made me laugh. He was my best friend all summer and I began to feel safe sharing the pieces of my life – my sorrow, my joy, my confusion, my excitement - again. I had someone who wanted to cheer me up on a bad day and someone who wanted to share their day with me. I do not think there is ever a bad time for that kind of relationship in anyone's life. And Ryan, oh, I completely love, and always will love, my Ryan, that could not ever change. But my heart, after being busted open in grief, has room for lots more love. And this new addition to my life was so sweet and good with my children, another fear that God eased as my children let him be a friend. And then my final fear, will it last or will my heart break? Ultimately the latter of the two. After several months we decided to go our separate ways and it was a mutual decision. But regardless of how the decision was made, it was a difficult one for both of us and a painful one - losing a best friend always is. I have peace though that my actions were taken prayerfully and that I am exactly where I am supposed to be right now - God's timing is always perfect.
But here I am entering into fall again and I am in pain. And, again, I barely remember the details of the summer preceding it, but this time that is because it was a joyful summer - a blending together of beach days, swimming, carefree children, time with friends, lots of travels (from DC to San Diego to Yosemite), and learning to love again. I was truly learning that my heart could love again. Even if my heart got a little bruised in the process, I felt what it feels like to have a hopeful joy shared with someone else and it gave me hope. Maybe I needed that season of pure joy, a break from the hard work of grief, to see a new and fresh glimpse of hope.
I just find the parallels in seasons ironic and painfully beautiful and kind of poetic – each summer has been a blurry melting together of unconnected events, one from shock and the other from joy, and each one followed by the coming of fall, bringing a cold dose of reality that I do not want to face. God created autumn to be a time of stripping away the things from the previous year so that after a season of winter, new life can spring forth again. That is how my heart feels again this autumn. I feel God stripping away the things I wanted to cling to in order to let Him sustain me through the winter, with the hope of bringing forth new life with the coming of spring. Here in California that metaphor does not really hold up well (it was a sunny 80 degrees here today), but having lived in places where the winter is harsh, I can remember the autumn trees losing all their leaves (and joyful children jumping in big piles of them for that satisfyingly lovely crunch sound!), followed by the frosty winter in which we snuggle together with our loved ones and celebrate the birth of our Savior. And then the JOY of spring flower bulbs popping up and cherry blossoms opening and the whole world coming to life again.
So, yes, this second year is hard. Is it harder than the first? I do not think anything is harder than hearing the news that your beloved is dead. But beyond that, in a lot of ways, yes, this second year is much more challenging. Partly because most of those around me have returned to their lives while I still grieve - and in fact I have returned to my new normal life while I still grieve. I have had to learn that I will always still grieve while carrying on and moving forward. That emotion continues on the inside and always will, and that can just be inwardly exhausting at times. And going forward this year is so difficult because each little bump and bruise I experience hurts a little deeper on a heart that is broken wide open. Building up walls of protection or hardening my heart would be easier, but I vowed from day one not to do that. And each passing day brings me further away from Ryan and that just plain hurts. Will I survive? Yes. Will I find hope and joy? Yes. But will the road there and the many seasons I have to pass through along the way be difficult and painful? Definitely yes.
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| this is one way to find joy on a cold heartbreaking autumn day - homemade pumpkin spice lattes |
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| I took this fall picture in 2014, in Virginia |
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