I go to a grief recovery group at my church, and last night was the last night of it. We each wrote letters to our loved ones, strung them onto a balloon, and let ’em fly. I wrote Nate a long one, but not necessarily one that spilled my guts, since I feel like he watches Jack and I from Heaven, and even believe he has the ability to pray for us from up there. But I thanked him for some things, and mostly was thinking about how grateful I am that I can move out from here. I am in the midst of starting a new life, one that won’t hold on to small shreds of what was left, but one where it is a new birth unto itself. Complete with new likes and dislikes, new dreams and hopes. New people, even (Though I have no intention of letting go of my old friends. If I’ve learned anything, I’ve learned that relationships are the most important thing in life. I don’t take relationships lightly). But this is the first time I can think of about not dreading the future since Nathan died. But, in my letter I told Nate that even though I’m looking forward to all these new and different things, I carry the former with me. They are buried deep in my heart.
I was talking with my friend, Laurie, the other day, and I finally just asked her if I was a totally different person since Nate died. I feel so different, but is there anything left of the wife that Nathan married? I kept my thoughts to myself on this, because I wanted a real answer.
“You know, Lauren, I think God used this to show you strength He’s given you that I don’t think you knew you had then. I mean, you can’t have something like this happen and not grow stronger. But you’re personality is still the same. You still have the same outlook on life and everything.”
And this made me so happy. I want to learn more and grow wiser in life, but I always want to be a version of myself. If I was a completely different woman now than the woman Nathan married, it would mean something was off. Either I was faking it when I was Nathan’s wife, or I am faking it now. But she said I was the same, but I’d learned a lot. Or been through the wringer, either way you want to look at it.
After hearing that, I knew I was more ready to start over. Being completely myself, the old Lauren in a new situation and place. Carrying the treasures I’ve gleaned with me to help me in my journey.
Life is good. There are so many parts that are unfair about it. There’s so much trouble. There are definitely, definitely mistakes. I’ve made so many mistakes. There’re consequences. There’s Death. But, for all the crap we go through down here in this short breath, God has turned it all into beauty at the end. He’s made it all a victory for us.
Even if Seattle isn’t what I think it will be, or if I end up having to move back in a year from now, I am looking forward to starting again for the first time. I’m actually excited about the future.
As I watched my letter to Nate fly up into the Heavens, I knew that even though I’m letting go, he and all the beauty he brought into my life will come with me wherever I go. I’m so thankful God gave me the chance to love him and our beautiful son. Thank you, Nathan. I love you.
But, mostly, of course…Thank you, God.
14 March, 2008 at 11:05 am
We all change a little bit each time we go through something that changes our lives. As long as we are depending on God, he will mold us into the person – the way we think, talk, look, etc. – that he wants us to be. I have known you for 20 years, but I didn’t really “know” you and your personality for most of those years. So, I don’t know if you have changed very much. But, I do know that I LOVE the person that you are choosing to be right now – loving, peaceful (incredibly peaceful! Even when you were going through some tough stuff a few weeks ago, the peace that flowed out of you was so close to how I invision Jesus was during his struggles), beautiful, trusting, open and willing. All things I want to be more of.
14 March, 2008 at 11:45 am
Hi Lauren, I’ve been reading your blog since I stumbled onto it from another blog (I guess that would make me a blog stalker?? – hope that’s not creepy). And I just wanted to say that these words you wrote, that I just finished reading, are truly beautiful. I don’t know if you meant it to be that way – you were just conveying your heart. But it’s touched me today. Your story helps me to be thankful for each day I have with my family. So, all this to say, thanks.
15 March, 2008 at 11:00 pm
Hi Lauren,
I, also, stumbled upon your site from another, and have been reading for several months. I’ve read the entire thing, and I never fail to be amazed and encouraged by your solid, steadfast faith in the face of the unthinkable. You’ve encouraged me to grow, to seek God and try to become the person I know he wants me to be. You can add a few more ripples to yours and Nathan’s lives, because I’m another that you have affected without you even knowing it. I see myself taking my everyday, mundane life much less for granted, and much more as the breif gift that it is. Thank you for your transparency.
Hugs and best wishes in Seattle!
Cathy
17 March, 2008 at 9:22 am
mmmm:)Makes me teary eyed, but gives me hope that God can bring us through anything.
17 March, 2008 at 11:07 am
I moved to Houston four months after my dad died. It was hard and I felt bad for leaving my family so soon, but God used the people at my church to love me and teach me and care for me. I had the clothes in my car (home is where the underwear is) and absolutely no furniture. I was 26, and needed a new start. God blessed me with everything I needed–including friends going through cancer/sickness with their dads (I kinda wanted to avoid them so I could forget about it, but it was a good thing to walk with them).
Death leaves you to re-evaluate everything. I used to want to skip ahead with my grief–like I was in an accelerated healing course, but each day is important.
My summer in Texas has turned out to be 7 years. It’s my home away from home.
I pray for you as you are young, and have the blessings (and responsibility) of a Jackabee that I didn’t have. God sees you. He’s the God that sees. And LOVES. He loves you so much. And he loves your little Jackabee.
I’m so excited for you. Be brave. He’s with you.
17 March, 2008 at 1:47 pm
You are the same crazy, fun, warm hearted, spirited, and beautiful person you have always been. Thats why I love you.
18 March, 2008 at 9:42 am
beautiful word. thank you for that. you have SUCH a beautiful future ahead of you. and i fully intend to continue peeking in on it as long as you’ll let me!
the balloon activity sounds so good. healing and refreshing and embracing of what’s to come. my heart welled up with joy as you wrote that story.
you are a blessing and a wonderful mom. God is with you and He will use IT ALL.
18 March, 2008 at 12:30 pm
I really like the idea of someone finding that balloon. Is that weird that I think that way? I dunno.
18 March, 2008 at 2:18 pm
Lauren- I think God has made you beautiful.
18 March, 2008 at 3:16 pm
Thank you guys for your encouraging words. You don’t know how they spur me on. I guess it just helps me (and hopefully you, which is why I write it) to look at the bigger picture. So, anyway, thanks for words and prayers.
Katy, yes, you are weird (I love your weirdness, otherwise I couldn’t relate to someone who is non-weird), but maybe someone will find the letter. You’re thinking “Message in a Bottle”, aren’t you?
24 March, 2008 at 1:44 pm
I love you bub…but the inner environmentalist in me is imagining the random seagull choking on your lovely balloons. I’m sorry to kill the groove of the post. I’m sure Nate knows your thoughts despite flying eco-violators. :o)
25 March, 2008 at 3:16 pm
Lauren, I’ve been reading about your journey off and on since Terry Rush posted a blog about it a few months back. My husband and I live near Seattle. I don’t know how many people you know in the area, but we’d love to hear from you and help in any way we can. Take good care, and may God bless this next part of your life’s journey. Anne spttyowl@pacbell.net