We saw a whale in Los Cabos in March. Chris would have loved to see one. I think now he’s swimming with them.

I’m posting today for the first time from my phone. I just walked around Lake Harriet for the thousandth time, maybe, and I felt like it was an accomplishment of some sort.

I’ve walked around this lake for years, usually as fast as I can because usually I’m doing it for exercise.

But today, I was not in a hurry at all. I was… satisfied?…I actually got back out of bed. I was out of bed and did some things this morning, but then I got back in bed for awhile. Details… Details…

And I’ve probably lost at least 15 pounds since Chris disappeared so…

But my mind was meandering.

I was thinking about the 23rd Psalm. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”

Yes. Walking. Barely. But walking. And it’s certainly a valley. And not running, though I wish I could. You know, get “through this.” Get to the “other side.” But no. Just walking. Slowly.

“I will fear no evil…” Yes. I pretty much fear nothing. Except for leaving Austin alone. I have this irrational thought he should meet someone and settle down and start a family so if something happens to me he won’t be alone. Yeah. I know that’s completely irrational. He doesn’t read my blog so I can write this because he needs to live his life as he sees fit, just like Chris did and just like I have done.

“For thou art with me…” I believe this to be true. I sometimes feel this is true. I have faith this is true. But sometimes…

So that’s why I ask others to pray for me, because even though faith is internal, we really need the external, the Word of God and other believers, and even sometimes words from friends who don’t believe or don’t know if they believe to help us see that God is with us in these deep, dark valleys.

And even John 3:16. God sent God’s son to die. I’ve always heard that, believed that. But now I see the even deeper love. Most parents would die for their children or in place of them. So trusting in that love tonight.

And I’m sitting here alone but not lonely. I’ve learned how to be alone sometimes. I feel like I can be alone or with people and it kinda doesn’t matter, though it does.

And I’m wearing one of Chris’s shirts and I can tell you it’s a poor substitute for him being here, but it’s a teeny tiny comfort.

And the death certificate likely won’t come for another couple of weeks or even a month because of the autopsy and I guess they have to wait for results. And that weighs heavily upon me. It’s a another step in my healing process that I have no control over.

And I wonder if I’ll meander for forty days or forty years. And Austin, too. And I guess we are in the wilderness for as long as it takes. And that is hard for me to take.

So no poetry from Chris today. But I’m going to share some pictures I’ve taken that to me signify solitary. No judgments on that word. Sometimes it’s good. Sometimes it’s pretty tough. Do you have pictures of solitary you would like to share?

Who took 3 years to feel fully comfortable with us because of how she was treated before we got her.

Solitary in many ways because of her Alzheimer’s

We were together but now he’s somewhere else.

In a really good and joyful place. Sometimes solitary is a blessing.

Missing Chris and being comforted by Gracie.

Well, I’m not alone. I have Austin and my family and Tom’s family who walk with us in this grief. And we have our friends. And we even have people we have yet to meet.

But I really miss Chris.

And I’m thankful for you.



One thought on “ Meandering…

  1. Jade Keiner says:

    Another beautifal essay. I read everyone you post. It is something I look forward to each day. Thank you for your honesty and vulnerability.


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