This road, it's a long one, but it's not without love

I've survived one week, and the looping thoughts like he was here this day last week, or we were doing that on this day last week, etc., have now been bumped by the date. I'm not past the point where my body wants to refuse food. Thankfully, however, I am past the point where my stomach violently returns whatever I've eaten. In seven days, my body has dropped 15 pounds. It's startling and unhealthy, but I am addressing it through liquid nutritional supplement meals. I'm able to sleep for longer stretches through the night. And today I have not cried. Not one single tear has fallen from these sore eyes. Lord, progress comes slowly, but it does come.

It's hard enough to be broken, to realize you can't go through it on your own, to not know what to do. And to admit it. It's hard to realize and say out loud, I need help. But there have been friends who have let me say it. And they've shown up. There have been arms and hearts and compassion. There were (and are) stretches of days this week when my dear friend in Vermont has called me hourly, letting me pour out my heart to her, and speaking to me in a tone of such love and compassion that I could close my eyes and feel her fingers rubbing my forehead and she could actually calm me. It's been torture for her to be apart from me as I've gone through this, but she has closed the distance and we've been together.

I didn't leave the house much at all this past week because I haven't felt able to and even if I had, I've been unable to drive with the crying and shaking. Two different friends have taken time from their days to take me to two different very necessary doctor appointments, and wait for me in the sterile boredom of a waiting room with year-old magazines. One friend delivered flowers to my door, with a canister of warm chicken soup. She just showed up and rang the doorbell. One friend talked to me for much of her drive from Dallas to Houston, letting me speak and returning strong belief in me and support of me. And one friend hung the flagpole and flag from the side of my house today, a gift she'd given me for my birthday last year but one I lacked the equipment and knowledge to hang myself. I needed, really needed, some change in this house so that I could feel it was my own and be comfortable here again. She and another friend have helped me with those changes this week. Inside and out. The closets, the electronics, the garage organization, furniture arrangement, storage, you name it. There they were, beside me, helping me figure it out.

I've received some wonderful support from comments made from friends here as well. Wise and compassionate words I've read again and again.

Yesterday, I could again drive on my own, a bit shaky but not risky. I went to my mother's and sat on her bed beside her, crying as I unraveled the story and told her that he was gone and that my heart was broken. While she couldn't answer me when I confessed I had no idea what to do, she did express her sorrow and pulled me close to her, where I sobbed on her chest as she rubbed her fingers through my hair. I needed my mother and for those moments, she was there, right there, loving me and consoling me. Once again I was the daughter and she was mothering my wounds with all her love. God works miracles and that was one. A small one in the grand scheme of things, but monumental to me. Absolutely monumental.

These are gifts of time and patience, compassion and love.

And then there's Jessie. Jessie who has been in my life I was two years old. She's changed my diapers, walked me to school, taught me to braid and has always called me her Sweet Baby. Jessie who worked for my mother and father cleaning their house three times a week for most of my life until her body got too old for that type of physical labor. Jessie is part of the family, and my third parent in my heart. On Valentine's Day, she called me to wish me a happy day. She immediately picked up the sadness in my voice and I spoke to her of it.

And she said to me, Sweet baby, I have something here and I want to read it to you: God is love. Love always takes away pain. Love opens all doors and love changes the impossible. Love soothes the wounded heart and soul. Love takes away fear and love goes beyond one's feeling. Love brightens one's day, and soothes all situations. Love heals the broken heart. Love grants a brand new day. Love is full of grace and mercy. God is love. And you are my sweet baby, and I love you.

As she was reading to me, I felt that she was saving my life. I wrote down her words as she was speaking, so that later I could wrap them around me in her voice and let them soothe me again. As I sit here right now and read them one more time, my sad heart feels some warmth seeping in. Because those words she read me, they are amazing and true. Love does change the impossible, and love is full of grace and mercy. I've been shown so much of it this past week, and it has helped me face each day and get through it when I had no idea that I could do so.

By the grace of God's love, through prayers, and the love and devotion of dear, dear friends, I am able to take steps. This road will be a long one for me, but I have stepped onto it and for now that is enough. Tomorrow is a new day and I'll be in it. Burdened with heavy heart, absolutely, but I will be there.