Jax was more than just a Dog

I used to be a real jerk about how much people would get so attached to their pets.

I used to think, "geez, it's just a dog/cat...what's the big deal?"

That all changed when I saw how heartbroken my mom was when she lost her faithful dog, Baby.

For all intents and purposes, Baby hated me. So, I never had much attachment to her. But, she was by my mother's side for the better part of a decade. She was her companion. She was her friend. She was part of the family.

When Baby died, we lost a part of the family. Losing a part of the family sucks. I finally understood how people could get attached to these silly pets.

I was attached to a silly pet, his name was Jax.

Jax was more than just a dog.

He was Tiffany's first dog.

He was our dog.

Everybody loved Jax.

Jax was rescued by my friends Eric and Julie Beer. Jax was being neglected by his owner. He was left outside in freezing temperatures. Weather so severe that it left frostbite marks on his body. Weather so severe that his chain would be frozen to the ground and he wouldn't be able to lift his head. He had a permanent mark around his neck where that chain used to be. He was also severely malnourished. When Eric and Julie rescued him he was skin and bones, almost unrecognizable to the healthy 80 pound dog he was supposed to be. When Eric took him to the vet for the first time, the vet didn't charge them a dime to get Jax everything he needed to start nursing him back to health.

Eric and Julie gave him a loving home and nursed him back to health.

Not long after Tiffany and I were married, we started talking about getting a dog. I didn't want one because we traveled too much. But, she argued that it'd be nice to have a dog at the house with her to keep her "safe" while I was working late nights or out of town. Of course, she eventually wore me down and we started thinking of what kind of dog we could get.

(For the record, Jax only looked like a good guard dog. On several occasions, friends and repairmen came into the home while we were gone and Jax never even bothered to check them out or bark. He was usually found in this position or something similar...so much for keeping Tiffany "safe" while I was away.)

Tiffany and I decided that we liked Bully breeds and we'd probably look for something in that family. Shortly after that, we were at Eric and Julie's house for a church game night gathering and we saw Jax for the first time.

It was love at first sight.

That lazy pup walked right up to us, plopped down, rolled over on his back, and demanded that his belly be rubbed.

It wasn't long after that night that Julie and Eric asked us if we wanted Jax. They knew we wanted a Bully and they had originally only planned on keeping Jax long enough to nurse him back to health, but they kept him longer because he was just too damned lovable. 

It didn't take us long to say yes.

Tiffany loved that dog.

I did too, of course.

Another reason we wanted a dog was to make us learn how to adapt our busy lives to take care of something. If we could adapt to having a dog, we could adapt to having a kid. I know, there's a big difference between pets and kids, but you catch my drift.

So, we had this big dog, and we took him everywhere. He was a road warrior. One summer, Tiffany drove him all the way to the cabin in Northern Minnesota by herself, and I drove him all the way back by myself. That's a 14 hour trip, one way! He made the trip there and back twice.

Jax was our boy, and we loved him dearly.

He slept 20 hours a day.

He snored.

He farted all the time.

He did no tricks.

He often made one of us late to work because he took his sweet time going potty in the morning.

He didn't like to play.

He only wanted one thing in life, he just wanted his belly rubbed.

Everybody loved him.

He was a great first dog for Tiffany. 

He was the perfect dog to match my laid back attitude.

He was a part of our happy little family.

After the accident, I couldn't take care of Jax any more. I was very nomadic during the early months. It wasn't fair to him that I would be home even less than I was before.

The night of the accident, Eric and Julie took him back into their home. They kept him until I could find him another home.

In the days following the accident, several people were generous enough to offer to take Jax in.

Ultimately, Jax went to live with Brian and Rachel Jackson...and of course, their pug Herman.

I was so thankful that they took him in. They gave him a loving home and I could see him anytime I wanted to.

A few weeks ago, they had to have Jax neutered. The vet was concerned that his production of testosterone was negatively affecting his prostate.

Much like old men, old male dogs suffer from prostate problems too.

After the surgery, Jax was on heavy pain meds and appeared to be doing better. However, once they started weaning him off the meds, he slowly got worse. Noticeably worse. So, they took him back in to the vet.

The vet deduced that something bigger was probably going on with his prostate or other internal organs. It was probably cancer. He only seemed better while he was on the pain meds because they were covering up all of his pain, not just his post-surgery pain.

Chances are, he'd probably been in pain a long time. The vet told Brian and Rachel that the Bully breeds are know for being tough, stoic dogs who won't let on that they're hurting because they don't want to inconvenience their owner. They're that loyal.

Faced with limited options, we decided it was best to have Jax put to sleep. It was the most loving and ethical decision.

(Brian called to discuss all of this with me last Friday. So, if you saw a big, bearded guy crying in the Denver airport, it was probably me.)

I had the option to go see him one last time, but I couldn't. His passing was going to be hard enough to face as it is. Seeing him in person and rubbing his belly would only make it that much harder.

Jax was put to sleep last evening.

Brian stayed with him the whole time.
(Poor Brian. Not only did he have to put my dog down, he had the unfortunate task of calling all of my close friends to tell them about the accident because his was the only phone number I could remember.)

Jax was more than just a dog.

He was Tiffany's dog.

He was our dog.

He was a part of our little family.

That family of three has been reduced to one.

I'm going to miss Jax, but obviously, the tears I cry are covering a multitude of grief platforms.

Jax was one more thing that Tiffany and I shared that is now gone.

I knew that he would die someday, but Hell, we're all gonna die someday. Acknowledging that doesn't make it any easier when it actually happens. 

I hope that we can all take comfort in knowing that the last half of his life was Heaven compared to the Hell he faced for the first half of his life.

He was surrounded by people who loved him.

Jax was more than just a dog.

Jax was our companion.

In Genesis, the author teaches us that God created animals to be our helpers, to be our companions.

Jax certainly helped us enjoy life more. He helped us learn more about love, selfless love.

I thank God for Jax, and it may sound silly, but I believe I'll see Jax again. 

Not only do we learn about God creating animals in Genesis, the author of Revelation tells us that every living creature in Heaven and on Earth and under the Earth sings praises to God in the final days. I believe I'll see Jax there, along with every other person and animal that I love.

Jax was more than just a dog.

Jax was a beautiful creature of God, and he taught me a lot about love.

Rest in Peace sweet boy, until we meet again...

It's Been a Year

I've heard it said that losing a loved one can be like losing a part of your body. Part of you is missing. You can't replace it. You can try to find substitutes, but you can never truly replace what you have lost. 

You can also learn how to continue living life after you lose a body part. You may walk with a limp, or you may never throw a football again. But, you can learn to do other things. You can still manage to live. You can find other hobbies, you can find new things that will make you happy.

But, a part of you will always be missing.

You may not always think about it, but occasionally you will be reminded. You will see someone else walking with a limp. You will encounter someone who is struggling with what they've lost. And, it will remind you of what you've lost. In those moments you can find strength and solidarity in knowing that you're not the only one. Or, you will be reminded of what you used to have, and how hard it is to go on without it.

Losing a loved one is a lot like losing a part of your body, much of what I said above still applies. The biggest difference is, others can't see it. Others cannot see the hole in your heart. Only you, and those close to you, know that it is there. And, it's a lot harder for people to notice when it's causing you to struggle.

One year ago today, I lost a piece of my heart.

One year ago today, my wife died in a car accident. 

It still feels like yesterday.

It still feels surreal.

I can still hear her voice when I think about her.

I can still see her beautiful face when I close my eyes.

I went to our old house last week to pick up our vacuum cleaner that I had left behind for the cleaning crew. As I walked around the empty rooms looking at the places where so much life had occurred, I was prepared to let myself grieve. But, nothing was coming. This was kind of a good sign. It let me realize that maybe I had properly done all the grieving that I needed to do in that space. But, on my way out, I stood and looked at the door that leads to the garage, a door that I had watched her walk through a thousand times, and I thought about how I'd give anything to watch her walk through that door one more time. Then, I was overcome with emotion.

It's been a year.

It's been a year, and I still miss so much about her:

-I miss her enthusiastic, contagious laughter

-I miss how she would steal my wool hunting socks and I could never find them when I was looking for them

-I miss how she would have to hang her clothes out to dry all over the house so that they wouldn't shrink

-I miss how she would destroy the kitchen when she'd cook

-I miss the freckle in her palm that I would only notice when I gave her communion

-I miss how controlled her climate and environment would have to be in order for her to sleep

-I miss the funny things she would say on the nights she'd take Ambien

-I miss her impeccable planning and organizational skills

-I miss how much she hated cats

-I miss how she would call me out on my bullshit

-I miss the way she would wave her hand in the air while she would "rap" the parts of her favorite songs

-I miss making fun of her accent when it'd come through

-I miss her only understanding half of what I said because of my accent

-I miss how much she loved and supported me

-I miss how easy it was to love her

I miss her from the deepest part of my being.

It's been a year.

Where do I go from here?

I don't honestly know.

I'm just going to keep moving forward the way I have tried to, with the help of God, my family, and my friends.

What does the one year anniversary mean anyway?

I know it's not going to magically stop hurting because it has been a year. The year mark is something we do as humans because we love to quantify things. But the truth is, it only measures that it's been 365 days since we've suffered an unspeakable loss. Nothing more. Things do get different over time, but it's not the time elapsed that changes things, it's what we do with that time.

Perhaps because of this "year" mark, I will allow myself to grow and heal in different ways. Perhaps, I will give myself permission to do so.

But, the truth is, I've been growing and healing for many months thanks to the work of the Holy Spirit and God's word made flesh in the people who have surrounded me. It's been a slow process, and I'm still a work in progress.

One of my biggest fears is the worry that because we've hit the "one year" mark people are going to expect me to have all of my shit together. Or, I'm going to be less patient with myself and think that I should have all of my shit together. But, if we can be honest with ourselves, none of us really ever have all of our shit together. We only convince ourselves and others that we have our shit together enough to pull off what we're trying to do in life, and we trust that God will sustain us along the way and strengthen us when we falter.

It's been a year.

I can't be more thankful for the love, prayers, and support that many of you have given me.

It's been a year.

I've made it this far, I might as well keep going.

It's been a year.

And a day will never go by that I don't miss her.

Grace and Peace,

Robert

"Chiseled in Stone" and other sad old country songs

Growing up, I learned how to sing by listening to my Dad sing along to country music while we rode around in his truck. Johnny Cash, George Jones, Merle Haggard, Alabama, Garth Brooks...he sang along with all of 'em.

That's also where I learned to love many of the same songs that I love today.

One of those songs is by a country singer named Vern Gosdin. Vern's name doesn't carry the same weight these days that the aforementioned names do, but the dude could sing.

One of his biggest hits was titled "Chiseled in Stone".

It's about a man getting into an argument with his wife and then running off to the bar to drown his sorrows. While there, he encounters a fellow patron who informs him he should be grateful for what he has. Because, as he says, "you don't know about lonely or how long nights can be, until you've lived through the story that's still living inside me. You don't know about sadness, until you've faced life alone. No, you don't know about lonely until it's chiseled in stone."

I remember the first time Tiffany heard that song. We were at the 8 Second Saloon seeing David Allan Coe in concert. (If you want to hear wilder stories about that concert, just ask me in person.) Ol' DAC is known for doing medleys at his concerts, sometimes they're fun, sometimes I think he just doesn't know all the words. Either way, Chiseled in Stone came up in a medley. In the middle, he explained that his wife had passed away (which I later found out wasn't entirely true) and that this song conveyed how he felt. The sad, heartfelt words of the chorus made Tiffany cry; right there, in the middle of a DAC concert.

I thought about that Vern Gosdin song, and I thought about how it impacted Tiffany, last Wednesday when I picked out her headstone.

It was another difficult milestone, along with facing our first Thanksgiving without her.

I don't know why it took me so long to pick out a headstone. It's not something you need to rush into. But, I don't think I was ready for it when I was in Minnesota back in June. Honestly, I don't think anyone is ever ready for it. But, it's something that has to be done. 

Picking out a headstone is pretty permanent. It's another sobering reminder. It's not something I planned on doing this early in life.

What do you put on the headstone of the person you planned on spending the rest of your life with? How do you convey to the world who they were? How do you take a slab of stone and make it say "one of the finest people who ever walked the earth, who was gone too soon, who meant so much to so many people, and I feel sorry for you if you never got to meet her"?

Tiffany's father and cousin accompanied me to the cemetery and we laughed through tears as we thought of how full her headstone would be if we went wild with descriptors "Wife-Daughter-Sister-Cousin-Friend-Niece-Violinist-Volleyballer-Croc Enthusiast-Child of God..." We could have filled up multiple headstones.

But, that's not the norm.

So, you pick a headstone. And you do the best you can.

Let me tell ya, that ol' Vern Gosdin song is right.

You don't know about lonely, or how long nights can be...
You don't know about lonely, until it's chiseled in stone.

One would think that maybe a man like me wouldn't want to listen to those sad old country songs any more, but the truth is quite the opposite. Those sad old country songs have gotten me through some of my loneliest times. The loneliness of loss is often accompanied by the loneliness of isolation, the feeling that you're the only person who has ever felt this way. Those sad old songs remind me that I'm not the only country boy who has ever faced loss or been sad before.

This doesn't mean I'm lonely all of the time. I stay pretty well surrounded by people who love and support me. But, I can't be surrounded by people all the time. It's not possible, and it wouldn't be entirely helpful for the healing process. 

I know that there are plenty of people who are just a phone call away when I face deep loneliness, but sometimes I've just got to spend that time talking to Jesus and listening to sad old country songs.

-

The one year anniversary of Tiffany's death is a week from tomorrow...can you believe that? Some days I can, some days I can't. The days can be so long, but the months go by so fast.

Please continue to keep me in your prayers as I face yet another difficult milestone. But, I won't face it alone, I've got plans to be with friends and family...and sad old country songs...and of course, the Holy Spirit.

Grace and Peace,

Robert

The Grieving Comes in Waves

Grief is a cruel mistress.

You never know just when or where it will hit you.

About a month ago, I was part of a community church service with my Wesleyan and Catholic colleagues. After the service, there was a community meal. On my way out, I saw a boy coming in to partake in the meal.

I recognized him, but I couldn't remember where it was from. 

Then it hit me.

Last summer (2013), my church partnered up with the Wesleyan church to put on a community movie night. We projected a film on the wall of the community center, we had free drinks and popcorn, and we invited the whole community.

We had a good turnout. About halfway through the film, a mother and son wandered over to see what was up. The little boy wanted popcorn, but you could tell that the mother was hesitant because she didn't know if it cost anything. Someone told the little boy that the popcorn was free and he came running to his mother shouting, "It's free! The popcorn's free!"

This kid was stoked about some popcorn.

It brought tears to Tiffany's eyes. To know that she was a part of something that made this little boy so happy meant the world to her. It was the sort of thing she lived for. It was the sort of thing that motivated her to work on our community projects. She just loved to help others.

That's where I recognized the little boy from.

It took me right back to that movie night. 

It took me right back to the heart of my compassionate wife.

I cried the whole way down the alley walking back to my church from the community center.

That's what grief does to you.

-

Some of you may have noticed that I haven't written on this blog for a while. In fact, I was just commenting the other day to some friends that I didn't know when I would write on here again.

It's not that I'm "over it" or done with grieving, there just didn't seem to be anything worth saying on here. The blog had been my outlet, and it helped me a lot. But, I didn't feel compelled to "make" myself sit down and blog if I didn't have anything new that needed to be said.

That being said, can you guess why I'm writing this post?

I needed an outlet.

I've been in a funk.

And you never really know that you're in a funk until you step back and take a look at yourself. It takes some self awareness.

My friends with depression have told me that it's like you see a dark cloud coming, but you fail to realize you're already standing under one.

I know the feeling.

The last time I was in a funk like this, it was the weeks leading up to our wedding anniversary.

I was unmotivated, I was emotional, and I felt lonely in a crowded room.

Guess how I've been feeling lately...

Check, check, and check.

So, I started doing the math. I felt this way before our anniversary, a milestone in the first year of grief.

Guess what's coming up...

another milestone.

My ordination is less than three weeks away.

This was a day that she and I had been working toward together. A day that was the completion of a goal we set together. A stepping stone in the vision of our lives together.

And she's not here to celebrate it. She's not here to see the destination reached. She's not here to see the goal accomplished.

And that hurts. It hurts down deep.

I think I figured out why I've been in a funk.


Now, that doesn't mean I've spent my recent days in complete misery.

I've been spending time with the best friends and family that a guy could ask for.

I went hunting in Wyoming with my Dad.

I worked in a haunted house with my good friends the other night.

I still watch wrasslin every Monday with some of my best friends.

And, I still record a podcast with my best friends.

But, none of that will ever fill the Tiffany sized hole in my heart.

Nothing will.

The motorcycle, the records, the concerts, the tattoos, the golfing, the guns, the travel adventures...

None of it will ever fill the Tiffany sized hole in my heart.

The real trick is to enjoy and appreciate everything that I mentioned above for what they are. 

They will never fill the Tiffany sized hole in my heart, and I should never fool myself into thinking that they will.

I love my friends and family, and I enjoy the things I do. But, the hole remains. I just have to continue to allow the space around the hole to grow larger and be filled with more love. (Refer to this previous post for reference)

And, I have to continue being patient with myself. It's only been ten months.

I will always grieve the loss of my beautiful wife. And, that grief will continue to sneak up on me the rest of my life.

But, I must continue to heal and move forward. I have to continue living a life worth living. But, I must remember to be kind to myself along the way.

I'm glad I wrote this post, I feel a little bit better already. But, I'm not stopping here. I made an appointment to see my grief counselors on Tuesday, they'll work me over pretty good.

Grace, Mercy, and Peace to you all,
Robert

p.s. I found this old note from Tiffany when I was cleaning out the house and I hung it up in my office. She would always stick little notes on my sink or in my bag before I left for a trip. I know that she is still looking over me with these words...

Seeds of Hope, Echoes of Sorrow

Sometimes, the hardest part of moving forward is realizing that you have no other choice. 

Well, perhaps moving forward isn't the only choice. But it is the only viable one.

We want to move backward to where our loved ones were. 
We know we can't do that.
We want to not move at all. The dull consistent pain of stasis is easier to handle than the sharp pains of new birth. 
Rebirth. 
Resurrection.

You can't have resurrection without death. 
Death stings. 
In order to rise anew, part of you has to die.

Though a part of my wife will always live within me, I must realize that part of me died with her.

In that death, I must seek resurrection.

Sometimes it's a lot harder to move forward than other times. Especially when it involves literally moving.

Moving and settling into my new home has been going well. My new home is in a great location, and I get to hang out with my Muncie friends consistently.

I need that. 

The life that my friends (in Muncie and elsewhere) give to me is part of the resurrection process. 

Last week in church, someone asked me how the move and the settling in has been going. My countenance must have substantially changed because they smiled and they said, "You look happy."

I think I'm ready to let myself feel happy again.

But, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

This doesn't mean that any of this has been easy, nor does it mean the experience of moving hasn't seen it's share of grief.

After a night of packing, and following a day of working, a came home to the boxes stacked up in the living room and it hit me like a ton of bricks.
Oh God, this is happening.
The last time there were boxes stacked in the living room, we were moving in.
Newly Married.
Our whole lives ahead of us.

It was overwhelming.

The next week, I was having a terrible night packing.
Just struggling.
I had my phone in my hand trying to decide who to call to help me chill out a little bit.
My phone literally went off in my hands.
I managed to at least say hello before I started going off like Ron Burgundy after Baxter gets kicked off the bridge.

My friend let me cry it out, and then got me laughing pretty good before we ended our conversation. It was just what I needed.

Sometimes, ya just gotta get it out.

I also faced the difficulty of packing up some of Tiffany's things that I hadn't found the courage to go through yet. 

Throughout this whole process, it has been hard for me to go through the trivial everyday things that she laid down planning to come back to.

The things on her sink.

The things on her desk, among them the church bulletin from the day of the accident.

Her office at work.

The things that remind me of how abrupt her departure was. 

When the day came for us to make the major part of the move. I still hadn't touched her desk at the house. I hadn't found the time or emotional energy.

While we were hauling some stuff to Muncie, members of my church family hung around the house to help pack and prepare more stuff for another trip.

They packed up the things from her desk for me.

The boxes are clearly marked and I can go through them when I'm ready.

Sometimes, you've got to let people help you do the things you're not ready to do.

Sometimes, you've got to be okay with accepting that there are still some things that you're not ready to do.

I'm very thankful that they packed that stuff up for me. I'm sure they knew it was what I needed.

Then I had a birthday.

As if shaving my beard, moving, and getting approved for ordination* wasn't transitional enough...I had to process celebrating my first birthday without her.

Tiffany took birthdays seriously.

Cards, cakes, favorite beers, you name it. She pulled out all the stops. Last year, she even got me prosciutto! And, an Indy Brew Bus tour!

We used to buy concert tickets for each other for birthdays. That's why I was so thankful that my friends took me to see Kiss and Def Leppard this past weekend. We kept part of the tradition alive and we had an awesome time. (Except for the lack of sleep)

On my birthday, I sat thinking about her in my office at work and how she liked to make a big fuss about birthdays.. I listened to the rain POURING down outside of my office and I remembered something she used to tell me.

Rain is used as a plot device in literature and film to signify change. (She reminded me of that every time she made me watch The Notebook.) 

Then, naturally, I began to think about the use of water in the Biblical narrative. 

The Israelites were led through water to deliver them from oppression to new lives of freedom.

The water of baptism sets us free from the bonds of sin and death for new lives in Christ.

Both significant changes for the people of God in each of the Testaments involving water. 

I thought of all of this as I sat in my office listening to the rain that day.

It was a Holy Spirit moment for me. I had to sit back in my chair and take it all in. 

My wife and the Holy Spirit were with me in my office that day.

Change does occur, but so does new life. There is resurrection.

I think I'm ready to let myself feel happy again.

Grace and Peace,
Robert


*To be discussed in a future blog.

A Less Bearded Man among the Saints

It may surprise some of my more musically inclined friends to learn that my favorite Wilco album is "Sky Blue Sky".

I don't care if Pitchfork said it was "Dad-Rock".

One thing I love about the album is it's almost like we're meeting a new Jeff Tweedy.

Around the time that Wilco was releasing "A Ghost is Born" in 2004, Tweedy went to rehab for his addiction to painkillers.

I like to think that we get to hear Tweedy experiencing a new world with the material he wrote for "Sky Blue Sky", which came out in 2007. (While I was working at Side 1 Records, the greatest store ever.)

I have to think that going through rehab gave Tweedy a chance to see the world with new eyes. We get to hear this new perspective on the world with "Sky Blue Sky".

At this point you're probably wondering why in the Hell am I talking about Wilco so much...

I shaved off my mourning beard, and I chose "Sky Blue Sky" as the soundtrack of the occasion. 

(If you don't know the purpose of the mourning beard, refer back to this earlier post.)

Like Tweedy going through rehab in his journey of life, cutting the mourning beard was a new milestone in my grief journey. It's time to start seeing the world through new eyes. "Sky Blue Sky" really speaks to a lot of what I'm going through. Especially in these two songs:

I'm sure as Tweedy stumbled to find his new footing, he needed people to be patient with him. I know the feeling...

And then, there's the beautiful song at the end about the loss of his mother...

The lyrics from the aforementioned "On and On and On" always stop me in my tracks:
One day we'll disappear together in a dream
However short or long our lives are going to be
I will live in you or you will live in me
Until we disappear together in a dream

Please don't cry 
we're designed to die
You can't deny 
even the gentlest tide
On and on and on 
we'll be together yeah
On and on and on
On and on and on
We're going to try

Okay, that's enough about Wilco.

But, hopefully you catch my point on why this was the appropriate album for the occasion of trimming the beard.

I didn't make the decision to trim the beard alone. I spent much time in prayer, discernment, and conversation with close friends about it. 

It was time.

I felt that if I kept the beard any longer, it would start becoming a hindrance in the grieving process. It would have changed from an outward sign of my grief to shackles of grief keeping me chained to one place.

You can't stay in one place with grief, you have to keep moving. 

Sometimes you go back to places you've already been. And that's okay, as long as you keep moving.

I also decided that if I was going to trim the beard, I needed to mark the occasion with something more involved than a careful soundtrack selection.

So, I decided it was time to visit the Maria Stein Shrine of the Holy Relics in Maria Stein, Ohio that I've always wanted to go to.

Surprise surprise, the religious dude wanted to do something spiritual to commemorate a big moment in his life.

I had a very good visit.

I went through the museum.

I went on the guided tour. (led by a nun)

I spent time in prayer in a chapel with 1,000 relics!

...Including three pieces of the True Cross.

I attended the noon prayer service.

I toured the statues on the grounds.

I wept as I prayed at the statue of Saint Jude.

I bought goodies in the gift shop. (Catholics have the best gift shops.)

And then I came home.

It was everything I could have asked for. A good morning of prayer and reflection.

Now, two of my best buds are coming over to record podcasts one last time at the Abner Ranch. Fun will be had.

The beard is gone, the journey continues...

Grace and Peace,
Robert

The Holes in our Hearts

This will be a short post.

I'm about to embark on another adventure. This time, I'll be joining Tiffany's cousin Matt and his wife Lori in the Black Hills of Deadwood, South Dakota.

But, I felt compelled to write today. So, I wanted to share an image that one of my grief counselors shared with me. It's been very helpful for me, and others have found it helpful when I've shared it with them.

The loss of our loved one leaves a hole in our heart.

(Here comes the hard news.)

That hole will never be filled, it will ALWAYS be there. 

However, the areas of our heart around that hole can get bigger.

Those new, bigger areas, they can be filled with new and different kinds of love.

Make no mistake, the hole will still be there and it will still hurt.

But, we can embrace the new love and let it dull that pain. 

The new love comes in many different forms. Old friends, new friends, family, nature, the Holy Spirit, the list could go on...

So, we must stop trying to fill the hole and let it exist. Live into the pain, don't ignore it or try to fill it with something else.

Be aware of the areas around the hole that are growing, allow them to grow. Allow them to be filled with new love. Don't stop the growth, don't shut off your heart.

I remember when Kal gave me this illustration. I remember crying when he told me that the hole would always be there. It's a hard pill to swallow. Our whole life and culture centers around covering up, masking, or eliminating pain. 

But, in this instance, we must recognize it. We must name it.

Over time, acknowledging the hole became liberating. It meant that I didn't have to try to fill it. It meant that I didn't have to "move on". It meant that I could focus on those areas around the hole and devote energy into filling them.

To deny the hole in our heart we would have to deny the impact our loved one made on our life. We would never want to do that.

So, we live with the hole, trusting that it will be filled in the age to come. All the while, learning to fill the areas around it with new love.

Because a life without love isn't a life worth living.

Grace, Love, and Peace to you all,

Robert

To be Married and given in Marriage

Many of you know that my wife's favorite movie was "The Notebook". I'm willing to bet that she had probably watched the movie over one hundred times during the span of her short life. Not only did she like the movie: she read the book, learned how to play selections from the score on the piano, and had the movie poster.

She loved the movie so much, that I made her a deal. Because she watched so many of my goofy horror movies and far-out documentaries, I would watch "The Notebook" with her once a year. She could choose to watch it on her birthday or our anniversary. 

I didn't watch the movie on her birthday this year, and I must admit that I will not be watching it this Wednesday for our anniversary.

I don't like the movie. Listen, I know it's sweet that he goes and reads to her everyday because her memory is gone. But, let's face it, they weren't a very good couple to begin with. They fought all the time!

Tiffany always hoped that she would find her "Noah", I hope that I was a better fit for her than a "Noah" character would have been.

So, yeah, this Wednesday would have been our third wedding anniversary. 

I'm writing the blog now because I'll be in Tennessee on Wednesday. I'm going on vacation with my cousin and her kids. I'll be in good hands, my cousin is also a widow, so she knows what this particular brand of crazy looks like.

This is going to be another one of those painful firsts, it's been weighing on me for the last couple of days already. 

This is the worst. The woooooooooooorst. (Jean-Ralphio Voice)

In marriage, the two become one. This week, as I remember the day that we made our vows, I feel the absence of my better half more than ever.

I also remember that at the end of those vows, we said "til death do us part" or "as long as we both shall live". It's a hard pill to swallow, but I have come to understand that death ends a marriage.

(I know, we could talk for hours about the theological implications of marriage.)

Marriage is something we do here. Marriage is pleasing to God. Marriage helps us get through this life.

But, Jesus says that in the age to come, we will not marry or be given in marriage. 

I believe that I will see Tiffany again and our love will be complete because we will both be fully united with Christ. But, I don't know that we will be Husband and Wife in Heaven. It has taken awhile to adjust to this idea, but I've learned to accept it. Because, I believe that I have no way of knowing what the age to come will look like. But, I know that it will be better than anything I can assume about it.

However, the hard truth remains, I wasn't done having her as my wife on this side of eternity. 

I still need her. I feel so incomplete without her. Some days I wonder how I make it without her by my side.

I try not to spend too much time giving myself a pity party and living in the past, but on these painful firsts I give myself a pass. You've got to.

My wife was an amazing woman, and I'll never forget how beautiful she was on our wedding day. (or, everyday for that matter)

She made me a better man.

I remember her every time I got to the communion table, because I know that the Body of Christ still connects us. When I eat the bread and drink the wine, I know that she joins me because she now rests in Christ. In the sacraments, I remember how thin the veil between this world and the next can be.

We had communion during our wedding ceremony; it connected us to the saints then, and it connects me to Tiffany now.

Please say an extra prayer for me this Wednesday, July 16th, I'm sure I will need it. And please, take a moment to remember our wedding or any other special memory of my wife. And, most importantly, remember that the Body of Christ still connects us to Tiffany, and all of our loved ones who have gone on.

Grace, Mercy, and Peace to you,
Robert

The Ways in which we Move.

Yesterday, I told my church council that I was planning on moving back to Muncie. I am not leaving the church. Just moving out of the parsonage.

I did not reach this decision easily. I spent a lot of time in prayer, discussion, and discernment before arriving at this conclusion. 

I loved our home at the "Abner Ranch". It was perfect for Tiffany, Jax, and I. We had our own place, in the middle of nowhere. All we needed was each other, and we got along just fine. 

But, it doesn't feel like my home anymore. It's our home, minus one. Well, minus two really, since Jax went to live with Brian and Rachel.

The commute home from Muncie gets longer each time. An hour drive seems that much longer when you've got no one to go home to.

This move is necessary for my spiritual and emotional health.

And, the move isn't that far fetched. I'm merely flip flopping which community I live in, relative to the two communities I serve. I actually work more days a week in Muncie, so I'll be commuting one less day a week.

But, I make no illusions that moving will be easy. Not only do I love my big, rent free, house in the country...it was our house. It was a place where so many memories were made, and so much of a future was planned.

The memories remain. But, that future is lost.

Losing a vision for the future is one of the hardest things to lose, especially when it involves losing the person you planned on making that future with. This happens in the loss of a spouse, the loss of a child, and even in a divorce.

Does that mean there is no future? Of course not.

But, one of the hardest things to convince yourself of, is that planning a new future is not a betrayal of the memories of the past. It's not a betrayal of the future you wanted. It's not a betrayal of the loved one you lost.

But, grief lies to you. Grief can make you feel like a jerk for trying to move forward with your life.

Because let's be honest, we don't want to move forward with life. We want to move backward, back where we were with the ones we love.

But, we can't move back. We know we have to move forward.

Notice I didn't say "move on".

How could we ever "move on"? It's foolish to think that we could "move on" and simply forget all of the joy of our memories, or the pain of our losses. 

But, it's the fear that keeps us here. We are afraid that if we move forward we're going move further away from the one we've lost, we're going to be unfaithful to their memory.

In these moments of fear, I'm comforted by the words of Saint John Chrysostom, "They whom we love and lose are no longer where they were before. They are now wherever we are."

All of this goes through my mind when I consider moving back to Muncie.

But, in the long run, I know that it's the right decision.

I'm kind of a social guy, so living in a town with a population larger than 250 might be good for me. I've got some long time friends in Muncie and there are plenty of things going on to keep me active and healthily busy.

Tiffany would want me to move forward, I would want her to do the same if the situation was reversed. 

But, I will miss our home. I will miss the life that we made for ourselves there.

Tales of Travel and a Sweet Little Dream

This is going to be a catch-all post that will attempt to encapsulate the many places I've been over the last month, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. 

I don't know where to begin, so let's begin with the music that has been sustaining me over the last month. As I type I'm listening to Explosions in the Sky, this band has always helped my creative process, but if I listen to them too long I get too contemplative. I've somehow found myself coming back to Kanye West's latest album "Yeezus". I hated the album when it came out because I thought it was narcissistically mediocre. But, something about "Blood on the Leaves" has captured me, the emotion of the song matches my emotion some days. There's anger in the song, I don't have a lot of anger, but the mood of the song identifies the trace amount of anger that lingers inside me. Obviously, the lyrics don't really coincide with what I'm experiencing. And, of course, I keep finding myself coming back to my favorite alt-country albums. Trace by Son Volt and Stranger's Almanac by Whiskeytown have been a consistent soundtrack for my life the past 6 months.

Let's talk about the Tiffany Tour.

For a description of what the trip was going to be, please revisit this post.

The trip went off without a hitch. No car problems. No accidents. No major detours to speak of. The final trip odometer was 2,146.1 miles.

I really enjoyed seeing everyone and spending time with them. But, before I can tell you more about the trip, I have to tell you about a movie.

Before I left for the trip, I watched a movie called "The Way". Emilio Estevez wrote, directed, and played a part in the film. And, his father Martin Sheen played his father in the film. Emilio isn't in the film much, his character dies early on in the film while he's attempting to hike the Camino de Santiago. His father goes to Spain to collect his remains, but decides to walk the pilgrimage. It's a great film and I would recommend it. But, the reason I'm telling you about it is because there are scenes in the film where Martin Sheen's character sees his son along the journey. Not in a ghostly sort of way, or a cheesy "Hey, did you see that!?" sort of way. He just sees his son doing the things his son would have done if he would have hiked the trail, and it brought him peace. In the depth of the grief of losing his son, he found comfort in remembering the things his son loved to do. And, in those moments, he was with his son again.

On the Tiffany Tour, I saw Tiffany. 

Again, not in a ghostly sort of way. I just saw her imprint on all the places I stopped along the way. I saw her sitting around the table laughing with us as we told stories over beers. I saw her so happy to see new babies and baby bumps. I saw her relaxing in the cabin that she loved so much. I heard her reprimanding me for bringing up funny/embarrassing memories. She was there.

Most of the time, these feelings brought me happiness. But, sometimes they made me weep like a child as soon as I drove far enough to not be spotted by those I was leaving.

The trip was long. The trip was exhausting. The trip was joyful. The trip was sad. The trip was needed. The trip was worth it.

The last night of the tour was in Chicago, where it all began. Julie and Ozzie surprised me by having these shirts made for their softball team. I was blown away. And, they let me first base coach!

I was home for a week after the Tiffany Tour, then I left again.

This time I traveled to Nebraska City, that's in Nebraska. I was there for the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America Campus Ministry Staff Gathering. 

I have to tell you, I was STRESSED about leaving for this trip. Many of you know, I'm not the type who stresses out easily. I was stressed about making sure my work was done before I left. I was stressed about working on seminary assignments while I was home. I was stressed about not checking a bag and only bringing a carry-on. I was stressed about going to a conference where I wouldn't know many people.

When have I ever been stressed about having the opportunity to meet new people?

I used to thrive on that sort of thing.

But, since the accident, since I lost my better half, I've found myself struggling with this on occasion. 

(Side story that coincides with the bigger story I'm trying to tell: I became self aware about this struggle a couple of months ago. I went to visit my friends Kate and Matt in Springfield, OH. While I was there, I got to meet some super rad people and I had an awesome time. It wasn't until I was driving home from that trip that I had realized that it was the first time since the accident that I had really met new people. Like, actually met and hung out with new people. That trip really helped me realize that even though part of me had died, there's still a lot of me left. There's still enough of me left to maintain my identity, there's still enough of me worth meeting. I've never had a low feeling of self worth, it's just that I was an only child and I've always felt a need for people to like me. Visiting Kate and Matt, meeting new people, and making new friends really restored a lot of me for me. But, it's still a struggle. Now, back to the story I was trying to tell...)

I was stressed about going to Nebraska. But, I knew that I just needed to get to Nebraska. I knew that if I could get to Nebraska I'd be fine.

I got to Nebraska.

I met super rad people.

I had an awesome time.

But, I knew that part of the difficulty of meeting new people was going to be that if I really got to know them I would have to share my story. The last six months are a pretty big part of my story.

When you meet new people, you never really know how to ruin the conversation by telling them that you're widowed.

But, just like when I met my new friends in Springfield, my new friends in Nebraska were cool about it.

One such interaction stands out in my mind.

In this blog, I've spoken about some of the awful things that people with the best intentions say to you in your time of loss.

This is not one of those occasions.

On the last night of the trip, I was hanging out with some folks I'd spent the better part of the week with and the conversation turned to some of my tattoos. So, naturally, I had to explain why I have my tattoo in memory of Tiffany. I hadn't shared Tiffany's death with the two guys I was talking to throughout the conference.

Naturally, caught off guard by what I had just told them. One of the guys just looked at me and said, "I love you, man."

In times of great loss, in times of deep grief, words fail us.

But, love never does...

Love never fails.

Grace, Peace, and Love to you all,

Robert

P.S. I guess I should share that I had another dream. But, not the same kind of dream. This was an in-betweener. This one was too telling to be just an ordinary dream, but not nearly as strong as the dream/vision that inspired my tattoo.

I was staying with Brian and Rachel in Indy when I got back from Nebraska. I had a dream where Tiffany was riding in my new truck with me. Obviously, she never got to see my new truck. But, she knew I wanted a Ridgeline the whole time we were together.

We were in the truck, and she was happy. She was laughing and smiling. And, I remember thinking in the dream, "Tiffany must not have died in the accident." But, something wasn't all the way right. Tiffany wasn't all the way there. We weren't really interacting. But, I was just so happy to be with her and see her happy.

But, I couldn't find a place to park. Over and over again, I tried to park, and I couldn't.

Then I woke up. And, I remembered that she was gone.

But, I wasn't sad when I woke up. I was happy. The dream helped me realize that she's still with me, she just isn't all the way here. (Not nearly with me as much as I want her to be)

And, I know that wherever she is, she's happy.

I thank God that the veil can be so thin sometimes...