Disoriented ATK letter 2

Darling Pam,

I remain but days living alone in this big-enough-not-too-big house that we bought together and made our home. And I have to tell you that right now, from my current perspective, it seems pretty big. I’m certain part of that is because I am disoriented, which is the topic of my letter today.

We have long laughed about my inability to find the Dillards store in the local mall, despite numerous trips; but blindfold me, spin me around and I seem to retain the innate ability to point towards the north.

The notion of living in a fog is an uncomfortable one; I’ve always possessed a sense of direction. Not just the ability to tell north from west, but a sense of where we are heading and how we are to get there.

Right now I grapple with this sense of disorientation. 

I’ve mentioned it before, our maps all orient to the north, but it hasn’t always been this way, hence the word orient. Maps and people used to orient towards the east, towards the rising sun.

It is as though, a similar switch is going on within my brain. Somehow the direction of my orientation has changed? How can that be?

Has the Westminster changed? I think not! It is still my chief end to glorify God and to enjoy him forever. So why the change? What the heck is going on in my brain?

As I sit writing this there are two photos of you directly across from me. If I stare at them, if I gaze into your beautiful eyes, my heart is aware of its pining for your presence. But my heart knows that day, most likely, remains years away.

It is my brain that doesn’t seem to want to catch up. If I am to believe Dr. O’Connor in her book The Grieving Brain, it is because I need to rewrite my mental map and replace the neuropaths within my brain.

You know my patience level! What exercises may I do to speed this process along or is God instead calling me to slow walk this process?

I still feel the need to call and check in with you. I still wonder what sounds good to you for dinner. I still expect you to walk into the room and light it up with your radiant smile and presence.

Lest you think that I might not make it through this minefield, be assured I shall. But know that it hurts like hell in the process.

Our family and friends reach out a lot. That could sound pejorative, I don’t mean it that way at all. Friends reaching out to spend time, check in and offer support make me feel loved.

We always told the kids growing up, especially those we didn’t give birth to, that God created us with holes in our hearts shaped for their parents. Holes that only they or God could fill. I am keenly aware, as I sit here this morning, that there is a whole in my heart that only you or God can fill. In your absence, please know that I am pressing into him to fill this void.

I suspect that when you knew this day was coming that your concern was that wine, or activity or something unhealthy would be my choice to try and fill the hole. Rest in peace, my darling, knowing that I am choosing well. I know only God can fill this void.

Love you forever.

Brad