As the anniversary of Nathan and Midi's death has approached, I've definitely been thinking a lot about "this time last year". A year ago on the 26th, Midi and I went out to dinner and to see "Juno" together, our last girls-night-out. A year ago on the 30th, our family spent the night at the Mikasa house; the kids ran around in and outside of the house for hours, we had a nice dinner together, we shared about the highlights of 2007 for each of us, the kids jumped on the boys' beds post-bath in various stages of dress, the adults actually got to have a nice evening together after the kids went to bed. My last memory of Midi and Nathan is of the two of them, along with Mark and Lucas, waving good-bye to us in their front yard the next morning.
Looking back on those couple of days a year ago, they seem to me in retrospect the last time I experienced a sense of contentment with my life. That kind of peace is much harder to achieve for me these days. While I can't wait for 2008 to be over, I find it hard to be very hopeful about 2009. I am more relieved that I won't have to get through the first year without Midi and Nathan again than hopeful that the coming year will be better in any way. Both the big picture hopes and dreams I had for my life, as well as many of the smaller plans I made even during the course of this year, have been eroded. Other than wanting Emma and Soren to mature and thrive, there's not a whole lot left that I'm hoping for in life right now.
I don't necessarily think this will be a permanent state. The times I've experienced God's love most strongly this last year have been the few occasions where I've seen Him initiate things in my life in definite and unexpected ways. So there's also some hope and experience that He will continue to make a path for me and my family. But right now that path is rather murky, and it's hard for me to have much sense of anticipation or excitement for it. I'm going into 2009 still upright but pretty weary and somewhat aimless. But perhaps God will make up for my lack of energy and vision, and do better for me than I could do on my own.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
What If
Nathan and Lucas' birthday was on Monday. I remember getting the call from Midi very early in the morning on December 1st, 2003. She had been in the hospital for weeks because her pregnancy was high risk, and she finally was going to have the boys that morning. I handed off Emma as fast as I could, but made it up to the hospital just after their arrival. Lucas' part is on Saturday; I think the kids will be fine, but it's going to be a rough day for most of the adults.
It's been odd what triggers mourning for me these days. While Midi and I were in regular contact, between the 4 jobs, 4 kids and 4 extended families between my house and hers, we weren't apart of each others day-to-day lives for the most part. Our time together was in phone calls, occasional times out together, and gathering our families about once a month.
So what reminds me of the loss of her and Nathan on a daily basis is not anything directly connected to her. There is the relational hole I experience, the absence of someone who knew me better than anyone, perhaps, that is like missing some vital part of who I am like an arm or leg. I can cope relationally and spiritually without her presence in my life, but it looks so different than it did before.
And then there are the random things that remind me of her being gone, the things that I wouldn't be doing now if it weren't for her death. For example, I've been running and swimming on a regular basis the last few months, activities that were pretty rare for me before this year, because I don't enjoy the former and seldom have time for the latter. But I did this mini-biathalon in September where I did both, and they've now become more of my exercise routine as a result. But I only did the biathalon because I was on sabbatical, and I was only on sabbatical this year because of Midi's death. So running and swimming, these seemingly unconnected parts of my life to the loss of Midi, are intertwined with her being gone and are constant reminders of my grief as a result.
I keep wondering what life would be like for me had Midi and Nathan not died. How different would my relationships be, my relationship with God, how my year was spent? It's an impossible question to answer, and a somewhat useless one, except that I can already tell, in both significant and meaningless ways, that my life has shifted perceptibly because they're gone. "What if...?" is less about the answer and more about life taking a turn.
It's been odd what triggers mourning for me these days. While Midi and I were in regular contact, between the 4 jobs, 4 kids and 4 extended families between my house and hers, we weren't apart of each others day-to-day lives for the most part. Our time together was in phone calls, occasional times out together, and gathering our families about once a month.
So what reminds me of the loss of her and Nathan on a daily basis is not anything directly connected to her. There is the relational hole I experience, the absence of someone who knew me better than anyone, perhaps, that is like missing some vital part of who I am like an arm or leg. I can cope relationally and spiritually without her presence in my life, but it looks so different than it did before.
And then there are the random things that remind me of her being gone, the things that I wouldn't be doing now if it weren't for her death. For example, I've been running and swimming on a regular basis the last few months, activities that were pretty rare for me before this year, because I don't enjoy the former and seldom have time for the latter. But I did this mini-biathalon in September where I did both, and they've now become more of my exercise routine as a result. But I only did the biathalon because I was on sabbatical, and I was only on sabbatical this year because of Midi's death. So running and swimming, these seemingly unconnected parts of my life to the loss of Midi, are intertwined with her being gone and are constant reminders of my grief as a result.
I keep wondering what life would be like for me had Midi and Nathan not died. How different would my relationships be, my relationship with God, how my year was spent? It's an impossible question to answer, and a somewhat useless one, except that I can already tell, in both significant and meaningless ways, that my life has shifted perceptibly because they're gone. "What if...?" is less about the answer and more about life taking a turn.
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