Today is the sixth month anniversary of your death.
Man. Six months...death. Those words just don't seem right. How can it be at the same time so unreal and yet so real? How can it still feel like you are coming back and yet its been six months without hearing your voice or seeing your face? And still it feels like these last six months have been an eternity. Many people told me it would take three-six months before I felt somewhat normal. And for the most part they are right. Of course, they also add it won't ever really feel normal again, and that feels right as well.
When people ask how I'm doing, I'm not really sure what to say - especially because it ranges from day to day, sometimes hour to hour. The range is from depression, to anger, to loneliness, to feeling overwhelmed, to feeling normal. I have stopped trying to take care of you, which is good, and I now feel like I have to be in the business of surviving. That means putting some things away that are visual, painful reminders of your absence - like your toothbrush and your shoes.
I'm not having coffee outside as often as I did the first few months after your death. I think I'm avoiding it. I haven't really accepted "Jesus as my husband" yet. I'm just not ready to, I guess. It seems so serious - not playful or light at all. When you and I had coffee every morning, the routine varied (one of the things I loved about you - you were anti-routine:-). We would read the Bible, or pray, or talk about parenting, or debate poverty or other issues, or talk about the dogs, or talk about our days or whatever. When I imagine having coffee with Jesus as my husband, I imagine the conversation to go like this:
Renita: So, Jesus, what does your day look like?
Jesus: Well, today is like any other day: millions or prayers to listen to, thousands of operations and accidents to attend, four births every second, two deaths every second......of the 146, 357 deaths today, only one-third will enter heaven. Peter and John are covering a good portion of those but there are some I want to welcome personally.Suddenly my day looks pretty un-noteworthy.
I know - He would be focused on me and would care about my day and the issues...but I still miss you and want you as my husband. I miss the dialogue, the banter, the audible responses, and the ability to process the oodles of issues that arise every day.
The kids and I miss you especially at night when we do our devotions and get into various debates. Last night they were debating NeoMarxism versus Secular Humanism versus Cosmic Humanism and other 'isms' as well. Noah was wishing that he was a Cosmic Humanist so that he wouldn't have to do homework as writing on paper would be injuring a god:-). [That kid really has your mind and your sense of humor!] You know me - by 10 pm I'm ready to sleep so getting into heavy debates at that time of evening is not my forte. You loved those debates and the kids missing having those debates with you.
Time moves on so slowly on a daily basis and so quickly when looking back. Know that we miss you. And we love you.
