First Morning

A woman is crying. I need to help her. I must wake up now. But everything is so heavy. I’m so weighted down. I must crawl up. Up. Up.

Tears on my face, running into the corners of my mouth, down my chin. My own crying has awakened me. For the first time ever.

Reality is rolling all around me, through my bloodstream, confusing my brain. In the dark fuzziness, I do my best to sort out the dream from the deluge.

He’s gone. There’s no denying that fact. I left his body under a white sheet on a metal table in the hospital emergency room late yesterday. How did I even manage to do that? 

From our concrete front porch with autumn leaves swirling in the afternoon breeze. To following the ambulance siren, knowing the truth and not knowing the reality. 

To robotic feet walking into the emergency room with muddled mind stuck in the dining room of our home. To learning the impossible truth. To answering questions from the coroner. 

To crying with my Mom in the familiar green and blue of her living room. Two widows. Holding each other as the day slipped into evening into night.

Now waking up in my childhood bed. But no longer a child. A woman destined to live out a reality I didn’t choose but must accept.

First morning. The first morning of more mornings than I can imagine ― waking alone, facing the new day, wondering how I will make it through.

Despair comes easily when I focus on the loss. The gaping hole in my life that no one wants to talk about. The haziness of what life is like without my husband.

Hope comes easily when I focus on Jesus. Lean into his loving arms. Seek his clarity for what life is like as his beloved sister/daughter/follower.

Focus makes all the difference, no matter what morning I am waking up. I have a choice, just like you do. Let’s choose to focus on our Creator, Savior, Encourager. 

Our God will see us through. One minute, one hour, one day at a time.

“Your word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path” (Psalm 119:105).