The Ring Part II

Riding the waves of widowhood is sometimes emotional.  Issues you thought were resolved surface at odd times.  Recently, I realized that I miss wearing my wedding ring.  It feels exposed. It just feels unprotected.  Nothing to say I was married to an amazing man. Besides, I really really love my engagement ring.

Choosing my engagement ring was our first experience at compromise...and probably our first alert as to how different we were.  Every ring I loved, Daryl didn't.  Every ring he loved I didn't.  Then we found it.  The perfect-we-both-loved-it ring.  Not a day of those 43 years went by that I didn't love wearing that ring.  Both for what it signified and for the simple fact that it made my hand look pretty.

Last Valentine's Day I took it off my left hand.  It felt like I was being dishonest to wear it, and it seemed like a good day to celebrate our life well loved.  It was the right thing to do.  For then.

But I missed it.  And, as I said, I felt exposed.

So.....I got to thinking.  I read up on widow/ring rules and there aren't many.  Wearing it on my right hand seemed like a good idea, but not with my wedding ring.  That was sort of sacred and reserved for marriage.  So....I carried it around for a while, thinking about how Al, my favorite jeweler, could make it different but the same.

My idea you can see above.  I had Al disconnect the wedding band, which I set aside, and make me a Grandma Heritage Band.  It has 16 leaves that match my engagement ring leaves.  Each one has a diamond chip in it.  One for each of the 15 grandkids, and one for any more who may join the family.  I wouldn't want a kid to feel like they weren't thought about.  So, the 16th leaf/diamond is for any who join us to know that Grandma thought about them even before they were born.  (My original plan had him adding two leaves to the engagement ring so there would be one for each of the 8 grown up kids plus spouses, but the idea didn't work)

I love wearing it. It makes me feel protected. It says I was loved and cherished.  And now, it also says that we left a legacy of amazing, wonderful kids and grandkids who add joy to my life.    

One Year Out....

The first year is now behind me. I don't completely believe the saying that the first year of firsts is the hardest.  I've had others say it isn't always true.  I think it's a milestone, but I don't expect grief to just disappear.  Grief is unpredictable, and doesn't fit a calendar.

Note:  This post will be just a collection of rambling thoughts.

My kids made "The Day" easier.  They all showed up.  Daniel and Whitney and fam showed up via Facetime, but they showed up.  Andrew drove up from Houston. Matt and Emily live here, and Matt and Amy hosted the group of us that day.  We commemorated the day with Daryl's favorites...party mix and my homemade sugar cookies with frosting.  We watched old family videos.  (Thanks, Matt, for making the DVD's.  They are a treasure for all of us!) We laughed and cried.  And sat close to one another.  And hugged. It was fun to hear the grandkids present say, "Is that Grandpa?  Is that you, Grandma?  Is that MY Dad?"

A friend who walked this path earlier told me that I should have a lot of good pictures of Daryl handy.  That when the painful memories of the last two months of his life surfaced, to be sure and have pictures of good times handy.  That was stellar advice.  He was right.  It was, like, be aware of the hard stuff.  It was real.  But don't let it be where your mind dwells and wallows.

When we were in college, there was a saying, "Glance at yourself, gaze at Jesus."  I have found that to be true in grief, glance at the grief, gaze at Jesus.  But isn't that good advice for any kind of trial?  Or problem.  Glance at yourself/at your problem/at your trial.  GAZE at Jesus.

My next door neighbor started my new year off with a sweet comment.  He said, "I've been looking for the right moment to tell you this.  Daryl would be proud of you.  You have done well this year.  He would be very proud of you."  When someone is walking through grief, those are healing words.

So many lessons this year.  The hardest is the silence.  Noone to say good morning or good night to.  My sister has no idea how much her greetings have meant to me this year.  She sensed my need for connection, and often wished me a good night or good morning.  The kids have offered for me to stay at their houses all I want to.  But hiding from being a grown up doesn't fix the problem.  It just puts off the lesson.  I've learned to be content.  To embrace where God has me now.  But the silence may have been the hardest adjustment.

I am keeping my job and my home.  I am beginning to find out what I want to keep and what I don't feel attached to.  It has taken a year to be comfortable admitting that I really don't want to keep some things that were only special to Daryl.  It's taken a year to figure out what those things are.  To figure out which things still speak of Grandpa and his love for the family.  Which things of his still make us chuckle.

I'm looking forward to this new year.  To embracing the new freedoms I have.  To finding my niche now.  To deciding what I want to do.  So many opportunities.  May I honor the Lord as I make these choices.  May I avoid the temptation to live a self-centered life.  May I serve my family well.  May I exude the Joy of the Lord always.  I'm content and excited.