Watching for the Stagecoach

Dear John,

 

There are two hours and fifty minutes left in 2013, and I don't care. I don't care about much of anything. Grief is so big and heavy today that I can't move. I didn't expect the turning of the year to feel like this. It was never a big holiday for the two of us, except that one year that we had free Showtime, and we watched the South Park movie - that was epic.

 

But New Years Eve marks the passage of time, and I'm looking back at two years that I wish hadn't passed. Everybody is looking forward to 2014 with excitement and optimism, and I just can't do it. I see no reason why next year - or the next, or the next - should be any better than this one was. You'll still be gone, so what does it matter?

 

And that's the crux of it. Today I feel like nothing matters. Nothing has since you took your last breath. I'm treading water, doing what needs to be done and going mechanically through my days. I've had enough days. I want out. I want to see that big stagecoach in Purgatory that comes down from Heaven for people. There is no point in my staying here.

 

But that's emotion talking. And today my emotions are shouting at the top of their voices. If there is one thing the last three years have taught me, it's to trust, to accept whatever comes, knowing it is what is best for me. You always knew that; I was the one that had to learn it the hardest way possible.

 

It's all about the revealed character of God. If He is all-knowing, all-loving, and all-powerful, then that is all we need to know. So I don't have to know the stagecoach schedule. I don't have to know how the COBRA bill will get paid this month, or whether my job will still be here in February, or even how much snow tonight's storm will bring. I've done my part - I even got the snowblower out of the shed today. I will trust for the rest. 2014 is coming in a little over two hours, whether I like it or not. 

 

I will make the best of it and try to make you proud of me. And I know I'll feel better when life gets back to normal on Thursday and we're done with holidays for a while. Tonight I'll have to hurt and cry and mourn, and that's okay.Tomorrow I'll bake cookies and put away the Christmas decorations. And somewhere along the line I'll find hope again, and maybe even purpose.

 

Miss you, love you with all my heart,

Joan.