I Want to be a Girly Girl

This is something I wrote in my personal journal during a time when everything seemed to be going wrong. I just couldn't get a break. Before reading this you need to know that I have never considered myself a girly girl. In fact, I grew up being the ultimate tomboy, but when choices are taken away from you, the grass seems to look greener on the other side of the fence.

I WANT TO BE A GIRLY GIRL!!!!

I hate having to deal with all the things I consider to be "man's work."
I don't want to deal with flat tires and bent rims.
I don't want to know the difference between a rim and a hubcap.
I don't want to deal with dead lawnmower batteries.
I don't want to know that lawnmowers need gas and oil.
I don't want to know if black and red mean positive or negative on batteries.
I don't want to know how to use jumper cables.
I don't want to know I can lift an 80 lb. bale of hay.
I don't want to know about fuse boxes.
I don't want to know how to change the flapper thing on a toilet.
I don't want to know how to grill steaks.
I don't want to teach my kids how to drive a stick shift.
I don't want to know when to buy new tires or brakes for the car.
I don't want to know when to add more air to the tires on a car.
I don't want to know how to use an air compressor or a roto tiller.
I don't want to know how to check the propane tank for low fuel.
I don't want to be the one to take my son golfing every time.
I don't want to be the one to interrogate my daughter's dates.

I WANT TO BE A GIRLY GIRL!!!!

I want to smell like flowers, not gas and oil.
I want to buy groceries and have Russ come out when he hears my car because he doesn't want me to carry them in.
I want to have someone tell me I am pretty.
I want to have someone say "do you need a hug?" and let me feel small in their arms.
I want to be woken up with a gentle voice saying "honey, it is time to get up", instead of the blaring alarm reminding me I am responsible for everything for everyone in this family again today.
I want to wake up and smell coffee that I didn't have to make.
I want to have Russ come home and say "the house looks great Tam!"
I want to put on a pretty dress and cute shoes and see Russ say "WOW" with his eyes instead of me always putting on my work boots.
I want to perspire, not sweat.
I want to spend my day meeting friends for coffee and lunch or getting manicures and pedicures and knowing they will stay pretty because I don't have to trim trees, or load trash in the truck and take it to the dump, or search through the barn for manuals on how to use power tools.
I want to be fragile.
I want to be weak.
I want to be tan because I got to sit by the pool, not because I am out doing so much yard work.
I want to teach my daughter not to wear white before Easter or after Labor Day.
I want to teach my daughter to always make sure your shoes match your purse.
I want to be Scarlett O'Hara.
I WANT TO BE A GIRLY GIRL!!!!

I want to end by saying something on a positive note. I am getting more familiar with this life every day, although I don't think it will ever feel comfortable. I heard something a long time ago that I really do repeat to myself every day and that is "The grass is not greener on the other side of the fence, the grass is greener where you water it." So true. Don't forget to water your grass today!

The Dash

I have a confession to make - it has been over two years since my husband died and I still have not ordered a grave marker. I tried to do it back in September of 2006. I thought I handled it very well, too. I had the perfect scripture verse picked out, I found a beautiful piece of granite that I knew Russ would really like. I wrested with how I wanted his name. Did I want his birth name - Russell? What his family always called him while growing up - Rusty? Or what he settled on after growing up and starting his carrer - Russ? I finally decided on Russell. I knew I wanted to have his birth date and his death date on the stone - July 19, 1958 - August 26, 2004. I left the monument company feeling like I had put something together that Russ would be proud of. The next step was for the monument company to prepare a computer generated sample of the stone for my approval. I was actually excited about getting it to look at, as if I had ordered something off e-bay and the picture of what I ordered would be coming soon. I was caught completely off guard by my reaction when I received the proof. Honestly, I almost got sick. This was not real again, just a nightmare. All I could focus on was that date - August 26, 2004. It was like a neon sign screaming at me "Your husband is dead!!!" I couldn't go any further with the order. I put the proof away and haven't looked at it again. I wanted the headstone to be so perfect and capture the essence of Russ - someone with high morals, upstanding character, always trying to make others comfortable, kind, sensitive, loyal, hard-working, a great listener, a loving husband, a proud father, a devoted brother, uncle, cousin, son; a people pleaser, always a gentleman, a humorous guy. I felt like I had failed. None of these things were listed on that stone. Just that awful date. Well, now I've got a little time behind me and I am thinking about trying it again. I started wondering what I should change about it this time to try to capture the man Russ was and not focus on that date. Should I leave the date off? I just kept staring at that picture and suddenly it hit me. The essence of Russ was not wrapped up in that death date, or, for that matter, in the birth date. The most important part of his life lay right between those two dates in the dash. The dash is where he became all of those things that made him special. I am going to try it again and I am not going to even look at either of those dates. I am going to stare at that dash with a tear in my eye and a smile on my face and think about a great man.

You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do.

- Eleanor Roosevelt

When Do I Raise My Flag?

I never knew my town had so many flags until they were lowered in memory of former President Gerald Ford's death. I counted 17 on my route from home to the kids' school. It's funny how I didn't even notice the flags were there before they were lowered. Actually, maybe I did notice one or two of them on a particularly windy day when they seemed to be waving ferociously, but even then I was thinking about how windy it was outside, not the fact that there stands a flag, a statement of so many things for Americans. Not until they were lowered did I really pay attention.

It is a good thing to have a visual reminder when someone has died, like the flag being lowered. Maybe then, when we see it, we will think of something we loved about that person, what they meant to us, what we will miss about them and maybe even prompt us to send the family a card or send up a prayer for them.

While on my own journey through grief one of my many fears have been "what if people forget about Russ" or "what if they forget how painful his loss has been for us". That would be horrible, for someone who gave so much of himself to his family, friends, church, work and community, to be forgotten. The gifts and love he gave would still go on, and yet the man erased as if he never existed. I cannot let him or the impact of losing him be forgotten, so I feel as if I have to keep my own flag (my heart) at half staff, that maybe I will be that visual reminder for the world not to forget Russ. I fear, like with the American flag, that once it is raised to it's normal, every-day height, the world will drive by, not see it anymore and forget.

I thank my God upon every remembrance of you. Phillipians 1:3

Widow Colored Glasses

A person who sees the good in everything, who always sees the glass as half full rather than half empty, is referred to as someone who sees the world through rose colored glasses. They seem to respond in a positive way naturally without even thinking about it. They can't help it. It is how they were wired. That was definately the old me, bbw (before becoming a widow). Since Russ' death I feel like I have been re-born and re-wired into a person who sees the world through "widow colored glasses". Everything looks different. It has left no area untouched. Every decision I make I question if I would be making the same decision if I weren't a widow. Whenever I am with a new crowd I immediately wonder "Are there any widows here?" When I put on my socks I wonder "Is this how a widow puts on her socks?" I don't want to see beauty because I can't tell Russ about it. I don't want to laugh because he can't hear the joke. I don't want to learn because I can't share new ideas with him. I don't even want to go through the fast food drive-thru because I don't want to say 3 Cokes instead of 4.

I am wondering if this vision will eventually adjust like it does when you enter a dark room and can't see, but then your eyes slowly begin to get comfortable with the dark, you don't feel like you have to be immobilized and you feel safe enough to move around a little bit. You begin to see things you couldn't when you first entered. If this is not how it works, where do I go to get Lasik for this?

The Lord said "What do you want Me to do for you?" And he answered, "Lord, I want to regain my sight!" Luke 18:41

Learning to Dance

Dancing is hot right now. This is due in large part to the popular television show "Dancing With the Stars". I haven't gotten hooked on the show yet. Actually only tuned in once just to see what Emmit Smith could do. Is there anything that guy CAN'T do? Everyone looked like they were having such a good time. Life is usually dancing by me so fast here that I don't even hear the music. I am searching for balance right now. I know that is important when dancing. My balancing act includes respectfully mourning my husband's death, teaching my children that one loved one's death does not become yours, then figuring out how to apply that concept in my own life. Can the world believe I really adored my husband if I am dancing? Why is it so important to me what the world thinks? Will I get that self-conscious feeling that everyone is staring at me if I begin to dance? Can I start out slow-dancing? Lord, teach me to dance.

Psalms 30:11 “You turned my mourning into dancing”

“To heal is to let the Holy Spirit call me to dance, to believe again, even amid my pain that God will orchestrate and guide my life.” –Henri Nouwen-

My Story

My name is TJ. This is my story: I was married for 20 years to the love of my life. We were happy even after all those years. We waited 5 years before having children and had a lot of fun together traveling, staying up late, sleeping in late, going out to breakfast, hanging out with friends and being spontaneous. We then completed our perfect little family by having first our beautiful daughter and then our precious son. Does it sound too good to be true? It was. I was only 41 years old, our daughter was 15 and our son was 12. My husband, their dad, was killed on our small farm in a tractor accident. That was the end of my old life. Everything about me changed except my name. This is going to be about my journey through grief, learning to live while still feeling pain, and getting the good parts of the old me back and figuring out if I've learned anything profound through this tragedy. I would love for you to walk with me on this path.

“Peace Does Not Depend on Our Circumstances, but in Our Willingness to Allow God to Use the Events of Our Lives to Create a Dependence on Him” –Henri Nouwen-