moving forward

navigating through the life that was and moving into the life that is

Five months

on April 22, 2012

Today I did something I had knowingly been avoiding for a few weeks time.  I went and saw Glen’s headstone.  I can’t say I’m sure of why I’ve been avoiding it.  Maybe partly because it would make what has happened too real.  Maybe because as much as I would like to think I’m doing okay, this step seemed more than I could take.  For whatever reason, avoidance has been the only way I could handle the knowledge that the headstone had been laid down.  Enter -> today’s message at church, “Why Do We Quit?” There was so much knowledgeable information but what resonated with me is that every journey goes through stages and that quitting costs. It really does.  And I’ve come so far and I don’t want to quit, despite how much it hurts to continue.  With that knowledge floating around in my head, along with today marking five months since Glen’s death, I decided that it was time for me to embark on a new stage in this journey. Again I was faced with dealing with a part of life that certainly could not be my life.  I decided to make this first trip by myself, so that I could be alone with Glen, alone with my thoughts, alone to break down.

I sat on the ground as the wind blew heavily around me.  And I cried.  Wept. Tracing the letters on his headstone over and over again. And for the first time since his passing, I felt like I was with him.  So I talked to him, something I have not done much, and it brought joy to my heart.  I talked out loud and through my tears I made him promise me that everything would be okay, that I would be okay, that the kids would be okay, that we could somehow figure out how to go on with our lives without him.  And through the blowing of the wind, I felt him say, as sure as if  he was sitting next to me, “I promise.” I thought I created that moment and of course immediately questioned my sanity. Yet there was something so sincere in what I felt, so I asked him again if he really promised me that he would take care of everything and again “I promise.” Not his voice, but a whisper through the wind, a definitive and indescribable moment. And again I cried. Wept. Smiled. And the lyrics of this song began playing through my head, so I placed my iPod on his headstone and played it and sang to him.

Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am home again
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am whole again
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am young again
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am fun again
However far away I will always love you
However long I stay I will always love you
Whatever words I say I will always love you
I will always love you
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am free again
Whenever I’m alone with you
You make me feel like I am clean again
However far away I will always love you
However long I stay I will always love you
Whatever words I say I will always love you
I will always love you

However far away I will always love you
However long I stay I will always love you
Whatever words I say I will always love you

I’ll always love you
I’ll always love you
Cause I love you

I could easily spend pages on how he was a loving husband, devoted father, wonderful son, and great friend.  But it felt better to just show how he was. Please enjoy the pictures and know that he was all of these things and million things more.  The depth of this loss is so immense, layered, and undefined.  Thank you for being a part of my journey as I work to process and to build a new life.  Five months later I still feel like time is frozen. That Cameron will always be 2 and Alana will always be 6,  but deep down I know I must learn how to live in a time of their lives and my life, without Glen there to guide us and support us.  I have finally accepted that time does indeed move on.


3 responses to “Five months

  1. Sandra, even though I have only met you once at the Flag Football tournament for Glen a few months ago, you amaze me with your strength and courage. Thank you for sharing such beautiful pictures and such beautiful words. God Bless you and your family.

  2. Debbie says:

    You are so loved… both in this reality and in the next. Strength.

  3. Julie Smith says:

    Sandy..My sister Tanna has told me your story and today she shared this with me!! I remember you when you were little…You are truly a remarkable woman and your loss is so so sad. I believe in the sprit and the wind that whisperd the words you talked about!! God bless you and your beautiful children!

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