Back to "Reality"

One of my very favorite things about blogging is that it gives a space to be more honest than you might in face-to-face communication. When I try to have these sort of conversations (like I'm about to have with you) in person, there are a very few people that I don't feel I've accosted and they would almost rather hear anything else!

But you, friends, take initiative to find this page and then, furthermore, take time to read it! A blessing beyond my imagination! And that is something that makes me comfortable to tell you how I really feel. I'm telling you how I feel today 1) as a method of catharsis 2) because it helps us know one another (even if we've never met) and 3) in the hopes that something I say may benefit you in your own personal journey.

Today is Wednesday. Twenty-one days ago at this time was a very hard day. For some reason, each step since then has grown more difficult and more burdened - a scenario I did not expect after hearing all the "time heals all wounds" talk.

Here I am, back in my reality, but being "present" feels more impossible than roping in the moon. Last week, as my plane took off from Phoenix International, my heart was more overwhelmed than perhaps ever before. It was the most final moment of this whole process for me. The realization that I will never fly back into the desert and see my grandmother.

Arizona has always meant "Gramma Ora" to me. And, with my family living there, I'll visit quite frequently. Which I am happy to do. But each visit from that moment of departure will be very, very different. That knowledge overtook me as the engined revved and there was no turning back: no more sitting in her room for a while, no more touching the things on her dresser, no more being in her "space" even with her gone. No, this was the real "goodbye". (I'm sure the girl in the seat beside me wondered if I had severe anxiety issues about flying when I broke out sobbing.)

God's presence is the sweetest gift I could ever ask for. C.S. Lewis said of the death of his wife that her absence was "like the sky, spread all over everything". And, while that rings so true for me right now, I am walking through "everything" with my hand in His. And I'm so thankful He understands every, little bit. Every fleeting thought, every memory, every sadness for what was and even for what was not. All of it.

We got a letter from a precious family friend who reminded us of how well Gramma always listened. He'd call her and say, "Got time for dinner?" And she'd meet him and listen to whatever he needed to say. We're all going to miss that so much...

Thanks for "listening"...