It has been a long absence since my last post. My apologies. I’ve been busy caring for my sweet baby daughter who is now already four months old, and home schooling the other two kids, among other things.
But please allow me to share a few thoughts on this special day.
All year long I've been seeing friends on Facebook who got married the same year I did celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. I’ve rejoiced with them. And today, on my original anniversary, I am reminded of another thing I never had: ten years with Daniel. During our marriage, we talked so casually about the decades we would have together, looking forward to our seventh, then eighth, then etc. I wondered what it would be like to celebrate ten years with him — what our life would be like. We were planning on having four children by now. We were planning oh, so many things. Yes, of course with the knowledge that God decides, but we were so optimistic that we knew what His plans were. Or at least I was. I don't want to put words in Daniel's mouth.
The truth is I don't know what Daniel thought of not having these milestones to celebrate. Because he was so sick and weak and his dyslexia made communicating by writing so very tiring and difficult, we didn't talk about the non-essentials much. What was essential was what he needed for life and comfort and deliverance from pain. He was so tired. Talking about feelings was a rare luxury. And never did we talk about what it would be like for me to be without him. I was fighting so hard just to care for him, to help him feel safe, to keep him from being overlooked or neglected or wrongfully treated in busy hospitals (though many of the medical personnel did their best). But there was one time after the doctors and ward manager insisted I prepare for the end that I asked Daniel if he thought God would call him home soon. He couldn't even write at this point. He didn't acknowledge me the first time I asked. So I mustered up the courage to ask it again. He stirred. He looked me in the eye with a sorrowful gaze. He signed yes by nodding his fist and blinking. I told him I would miss him oh, so much. He squeezed my hand, blinked again as if to say, “Me too,” and drifted back off to sleep.
When he was healthy, we had a marriage characterized by a strong emotional bond, sharing our feelings and growing close because of it. It was a skill we learned through much struggle and practice. I think that it why it is even harder to not have had that ability to share much emotionally with him through that time. There was so much that cancer took away even before it claimed his life.
The other day, a friend asked how I have been doing, especially considering this period of past special events — Daniel’s birthday, Christmas, and our wedding anniversary. I told her it seems to be similar to what some parents say who have lost a child, when people tell them it’ll be okay because they can always have another. Bereft parents say a new child can never replace the one who died. Just because you can marry again after losing your spouse doesn’t mean that new person replaces the one you lost.
I told my friend that, mingled with the joy of God’s wonderful new blessings for my family and I in giving me David, and now Elspeth, is still the sorrow of what I “lost.” Though rationally I know that I never “had” those things because God never ordained them, emotionally it feels like those dreams and hopes have been taken.
But in God’s graciousness and compassion, He has given me new hopes and dreams, though perhaps tempered with the sober reminder that:
“Many are the plans in the mind of a man,
but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand.” Proverbs 19:21
And may He always be glorified for it.
