A Life in Exile

It’s been a while since I’ve added any posts to my section on The Grief Walk, but this one needs to be in there. I’ll preface what happened with this: November will mark ten years since my husband’s passing. Trust me, that’s been on my mind all year, as it seems like certain combinations of numbers impact grief. This one feels big. Maybe it’s because a decade is a full number of years. Maybe it’s because the number ten in the Bible is about completeness or fullness. Anyway, that said, two things happened just before Easter that stirred up my emotions.

The rings.

I’ve always prided myself on my slender fingers—piano fingers, as my mother would say, though I’m still not a great piano player after twelve years of lessons. When Raouf asked me to marry him, I was also slender in body, weighing a slight 103 pounds. (Boy, those were the days). Now, thirty-five years later, I’m dealing with arthritis in my fingers. I haven’t been able to remove my rings for years, and I grew worried that I would one day have to cut them off.

I told myself that in this tenth year of loss, I would need to get my rings off. Don’t know why this year, but it just kept nagging at me. So, after watching several YouTube videos about how to get rings over big knuckles, I finally found success with a ribbon and Windex. My engagement ring was thinner, so I’d been able to get that off without drastic measures, but the wedding band—well, it was stubborn.

If I had not faced the dilemma of the knuckles, I don’t know if I would have removed them at all, but the thought of cutting the band, which carried the name of my late husband and our date of marriage, seemed more than I wanted to bear. It feels weird. My finger bears the imprint of where my rings once rested. I put my engagement ring into my jewelry box, not sure if I’ll have the diamonds reset or not. That’s for another day.

But the band.

Well, I just couldn’t give it up that easily, so for now, it has found a resting place on my pinky finger. Grief is a curious thing. After getting the rings off, I looked at my naked finger and cried. It seemed to signify a permanency in the loss. Though I still bear his name, I no longer wear his ring…well, not at least on the appropriate finger.

The mattress.

As if taking off my wedding band wasn’t enough for me this month, it seemed the Lord was nudging me to do more. I had not been sleeping great of late, and when an ad for a furniture sale arrived in the mail, I took it as a sign. I really did need a new mattress. After all, the one on which I slept was made in Egypt, purchased over twenty years ago. It’s travelled across the ocean and been on my bed ever since.

Yes, it’s old and heavy, but it’s still the mattress where we slept together. Could I give it up? I should. I could. I did.

On the day of the delivery, I removed the sheets and cover; I took off the mattress pads I’d added in the past ten years. I looked down to see a very plain, sad-looking mattress. It seemed to reflect my current state of mind.

Sighing, I lifted the mattress from my bed and began scooting it toward the back door and down the steps to the garage. Done. The new mattress would arrive later in the day. There was no going back now.

What God teaches us through hard things.

Both of these experiences, so close together, were hard. Did I get through them? Yes. Am I better off? Yes. I don’t experience pain when my finger swells while I’m out for my daily walks, and I sleep better at night. As hard as these things were for me, they seem easy in comparison to those first few days, weeks, and months of hard things after Raouf’s death.

Isn’t that a lesson? Yes, I think it is. God is telling me that, though grief remains, it does get easier to endure. The grief of loss is always a part of our journey, but it doesn’t have to define our journey. It’s like seeing a wilting flower after the joys of Spring. There’s a sadness in knowing that you can no longer enjoy the beauty of that flower, but it doesn’t last. Why? Because I know flowers will bloom again next year.

Yes, I will grieve in this life, but as a Christ follower, I know that a day is coming when I’ll see my loved ones again.

Weeping may stay overnight, but there is joy in the morning. (Psalm 30:5 CSB)

In the meantime, I press on, thankful for the strength the Spirit provides to do the hard things, knowing that he’ll use them to teach me, grow me, and strengthen my love for him and his care for me.

Is God asking you to do a hard thing? Maybe it relates to grief, or maybe it has to do with letting go of something that is keeping you from doing his will. Whatever it may be, I pray he’ll give you the strength and courage to step out in faith, knowing he’ll help you through.

Grace and Peace

If you missed the last Wednesday Wisdom, click HERE, or check out these other posts from the Grief Walk: Grief: It’s Not a Spreadsheet, Loss Suspended, It Doesn’t Count, and One More Lost Tie.