Too painful for words, but too helpful to be silent. Just two months ago, I remembered Dean on his birthday, and now I remember him again on his "death day". Both are dates that are seared into my memory for different, but similar reasons.
We used to celebrate Dean's birthday in December, because it was an event that brought life to a man I came to love for over forty years. Our marriage changed my life in ways I could not have imagined. At his death, five years ago now, my life has once again changed. I became a widow; but that hasn't been all bad.
The love we shared was not lost entirely. I've been able to channel it to sources that have brought me just as much satisfaction and joy as those blissful, but sometimes stormy, forty years of marriage.
God has blessed me with not only a daughter, but her husband and family, which includes two beautiful granddaughters.
In addition, the last half of these five, swift years have enabled me to reach out to my community in ways that weren't always available when I had Dean's care to consider after his tractor accident. The training brought about by his caregiving provided me with the stamina and determination to be a caregiver for my whole neighborhood.
For two and a half years now, I have daily re-stocked the shelves of a little free pantry in my front yard, trying to keep a close eye on the grocery needs of my neighbors and checking the pulse of the wider community, encouraging them to donate the vast amount of food it takes to feed those in need here.
Although the pandemic has kept me home more than I'd like, I feel greatly blessed that I have a place to call home. It would have been sweet to share all this with Dean, but I have great hopes and expectations that someday in our heavenly home I'll be able to do just that.
Oh, come, Lord Jesus, come! About that, I cannot be silent.
