Letter to my ten-years-ago self...

Ten years ago I sat under a Banyan tree and told an eight-year-old the shocking news that her dad had just died of a heart attack.  I will never forget the puffy clouds and the sounds of children playing and the way her blond head tilted just so to the side as blue eyes filled with tears. The future seemed hopeless and scary and impossible--to both of us. Looking back over the years and miles I wish I could write a letter to my ‘ten-years-ago’self ...


Hey You,
Sitting there with tear stained cheeks and puffy eyes.  Can I talk to you for a minute?
Your world has been rocked.  The unthinkable has happened. All of the clich├ęs that people say at times like these have been said, and you are left standing there, holding the ragged pieces of  your ‘happily ever after’ in clenched hands.  

I want to tell you a few things. The first is simple. It may sound trite but it is true, O so true.  
You are going to be ok. 
In spite of it all or, some days, because of it all, you are going to be ok.
God is big enough for every moment you will face and every sobbing scream you will stifle in your pillow in the night.  He holds the future, but more importantly, He holds you.  

It seems impossible to believe right now, but you will get through the services and the awkward conversations and the endless paperwork.  The irony will not be lost on you that while everyone else is filling out back-to-school forms and soccer club applications, you are agonizing over what to have written on your husband’s tombstone. Sigh. And oh that tombstone. The sight of it will bring you to your knees; there is something about the phrase ‘written in stone’ that is so true, but God being God will provide a way through it for you and your kids, and at the end of that particular long unbelievable week there will be a quiet confidence that He was somehow right there with you all.

You will grieve.  That is a fact.  But it is important that you learn to grieve well. That is, to grieve not in hopeless anguish but to grieve with the hope of heaven in your heart. There is a difference. This takes time, a lot of time.  There is no magic point of being 'done' (though many will assume so and say dumb things that make you want to scream!). 

You will worry. A lot. Your own lonely will seem insignificant in the light of the worry you have for your kids and the fact that they are going to grow up without a dad’s daily hugs and unconditional love. As kids usually do, yours will take their cues from you. That is a huge responsibility to bear. But even though you cry sometimes and don’t have answers for their many questions, you are usually filled with love and memories and enough Jesus to be strong for them when they feel scared and alone.  

Every milestone they experience will be a difficult reminder for all of you that he is not there. You will be surprised at the big things that become no big deal and the little things, like singing Happy Birthday, that bring you to tears. You will find new ways to celebrate and establish new family holiday traditions.    

And those kids, your precious kids will surprise you! That eight year old and newly adopted two year old  will grow and flourish into beautiful, compassionate young ladies.  Their smiles and laughter will bring you so much joy and the journey they have walked will turn them into the type of friend that others dare to confide in.

You will learn so many new things over the next ten years.  You will fix stuff and grow stuff and argue with contractors and car repair men when necessary. The gender lines in your home will become blurry at times and your kids will grow certain that their momma can do anything and repair almost anything (and with the help of Youtube videos, maybe you can!).  

Many times you will be unsure of what to do with those big life decisions.  Find a few trusted advisors that you can talk to. Take the time to get all of the facts and go beyond your shifting emotions. Breathe in peace and breathe out fear and anxiety, and the way will eventually seem clear. 

I won’t lie to you - you will experience a lonely like never before.  The lonely feeling in a crowd of Noah’s ark couples shuffling two by two into church, or school events or the movie theater.  There will be people you can call, but not him. And mostly you will decide that this is a lonely that is better experienced alone.

The sound of football won't fill your house as much on a Sunday afternoon and the toilet seat will always be down. Middle of the day cell phone calls and quiet shared moments after the kids are in bed will always be missed.

Yet, there will be  travel to new places and make new memories and meet new people.  You’ll be in charge of all of the arrangements and all of the finances and will laugh through your tears as you stand at the trunk of the car and realize there is no-one there to criticize how many clothes you packed for a four day trip!

One day it will hit you that you have a whole new circle of friends who never knew him.
Life will indeed go on. And while in early days you were sure it would never happen, you will learn to laugh again.  Deep belly laughs that will surprise you and free your heart from the shadows that you were sure would never leave.

Life will never cease to be divided into ‘before’ and ‘after’ that fateful day, but time and distance will blur the sharp edges until the memories become like a treasured photograph, slightly faded, hanging on your fridge.  And one day you will realize that you are still a family – a real family , not just a broken fragment of what was.

And yes, you will be ok!  YOU WILL BE OK!

Because you see, you are still here.
And if you’re still here, that means God still has purpose to unfold for your life.
And maybe your story, the one that you were not certain you would survive,  
that story will be the very thing to give someone else hope to make it through their own story.

Instead of being filled with grief, you will become a giver of hope.
Only God could have put such a plan in motion.
Here’s to the next ten years. 
May we choose to live them grace-fully, hope-fully, and joy-fully.

Romans 15:13   May the God of living hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope! 


Anonymous said…
Your words speak to me personally and give me hope for the future me Thank you for making me cry and making me hopeful all at the same time :)
This is absolutely wonderful!!

Thank you, thank you and thank God for leading you in helping and encouraging others.

Love and hugs ~ FlowerLady
Kelly M said…
I was introduced to your website just a few days ago. I find it encouraging and full of hope. Even though it has been less than 4 months since my husband passed away unexpectedly, I can already relate to much of what you wrote in this letter.
Thank you for offering a sliver of hope that "it will be ok."
Anonymous said…
Wow, Danita, this is really beautiful, touching and powerful. Thank you for sharing these heartfelt words with us!
Unknown said…
These words are so true. My husband died years ago and I have been blessed to help others through this first year. I will add this blog to my words of wisdom I pass on. Thank you for writing them down. You are a beautiful woman with a great laugh.
Unknown said…
Thank you for sharing these words of wisdom. My husband died years ago and I have been honored that I am able to help others through this first year. I will add your words to those I share. You are an amazing woman. I love your laughter
Danita said…
Thank you, friends , for sharing YOUR words with me. I was locked out of comments earlier for some reason!
Flowerlady Lorraine- your words are always a blessing!
Kelly M - You ARE going to be OK! There are days we need to just keep saying that,one tiny step at a time.
Holley Gerth- thank you for taking the time to read these words. Your encouragement is always ENCOURAGING!
And to 'anonymous' and 'unknown'- I am stuck by the fact that to Jesus, we are NEVER anonymous. We are NEVER unknown. He sees. He knows. He cares. Always.