Coming full circle...

Eight years ago, June 30, 2010, my grandfather, Joseph M. Kremer breathed his last. My grandpa was my hero, an idol, one of the greats...and I couldn't imagine life without him. ...and without knowing it, eight years ago, I entered into this tug-of-war in my heart - this niggling question of doubt: how can God be good if we die?

I didn't realize it at the time because I knew the answer. I knew the right answer based on my years of study and attentiveness: God is good. Period. End of statement. What is there to question?

Because, up until that point in my life I had known no other reality than goodness. I hadn't really endured suffering or hardship. Nor had I experienced love, really. I mean, yes, I knew the unconditional love of my parents and family; I knew phileo love - the constancy of friends... but not the depth of love that causes you to realize that you can't imagine a moment where you didn't love this person...where your soul knew a level of completion that it hadn't before.

When Grandpa Joe (affectionately known as Grandpa McGillicuddy to his grandkids) died...his was the first loss that I really felt. My grandpa had been sick for a while; his kidneys first started to fail three years earlier. For three years, his body battled the slow process of shutting down - and my grandmother, the angel that she is, allowed no one else to care for him. (eventually of course there were nurses that had to come in, but up until the last few weeks, she was adamant that he would be home)

He had a stroke (I think; now the details are becoming fuzzy to me) a few weeks before he died. At that point, he moved into a nursing home. I visited him with my aunt Mary, cousin Amy, and Grandma, after my cousin Cynthia's wedding. He was alert and attentive. Like he was. ...and I think it was that week that the reality of losing him started to sink in for me. I remember sobbing in Dan's basement as the reality that a man like this was a gem; a rare treasure; and that this earth would lose something profound when we lost him.

To live such a life, right?

To live such a life that the world notices.
...that a void is left not only in the lives of those that loved you - but in the world itself.
...that a space is created asking another to take up the cross of courage and compassion, to step into this life of truly living and serving and loving others.

I wouldn't say that he loved with abandon - but rather, with reason. He considered. He contemplated. He sorted through a complex issue with logic - and compassion. He then communicated through wit and humor, endearing those to his side - or, at least to listen and to consider. His faith was the foundation of his life, creating an ordered discipline and understanding of the world. His love of family was placed securely upon that foundation: ordering his choices and tempering justice with compassion.

It is through reflecting on his life that I start to see the lesson he modeled to me: love justice, seek mercy, and walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8) I think of his last letter to me where he said, "we were put into this world to help one another." He taught me to not only believe in the good of the other person, but more importantly to be the good.

.....

So, yes, his loss was profound, but at the time, I didn't realize the question planted in my heart. For as he left this world, then Dan left Iowa for Arizona - and my life speed started to ramp up. I decided to join the Catholic church, and during that year of formation sensed my grandpa's pleasure at this new path I was embarking on my mountainous journey toward God.

During RCIA, I remember doing a visioning prayer exercise where we were envisioning a wall around a palace...and the palace was supposed to be heaven and what we were picturing was where we were, in our hearts/belief, at that moment in relation to God/our understanding of death, etc. (I obviously am not remembering all the details perfectly) BUT - I do remember that for me, it was like a bright, autumn day, the fields surrounding the place were golden, ready for harvest...but there was no entrance. I was on the outside of that wall, with no way to get in.

For right-understanding-Jessica-who-believes-in-God-and-has-made-a-good-confession-of-faith-and-therefore-is-not-afraid-of-dying...like-any-good-Christian-and-of-course-she-is-a-good-Christian; if-she-is-anything-she-is-a-good-Christian - that was a really startling revelation. And, like any good respondent, upon realizing this, I promptly threw it away - paying it no mind - it wasn't in line with the truth. ...and I am in line with the truth.

So, I went on with my life. Joining the church. Getting married. Moving to Arizona. Starting my married life. Moving forward.

...but that seed...that fear of death...that separation...continued to grow/fester.

...and then Dan was diagnosed with cancer.

In a way, the diagnosis amplified the fear, yes. ...but, it also steeled my resistance to believing that cancer would win. The barrier that fear had created was melting in my heart with every Rosary that I prayed - as I focused on the truth of who Jesus is, and focused on His works. I am sure that Mary was fervently praying for me to not only know, but to fully love her son not only through this trial, but beyond.

I have said it before that I never thought Dan could die. I mean it. I was afraid, of course, that he would - but I truly believed that if God was good, Dan would not die. How could he? How could He? How could He bring me to this man, and cause him to love me, and give us this life together - only for it to be snatched away? How could that be good? How, in a thousand lifetimes, could that be considered good?



It would seem, of course, that God had more lessons to teach me.

A lesson that, I think, both my grandpa and Dan knew to be true, through their years of suffering in the body: God's goodness is bigger - than death - than life - than our present circumstance (no matter how good or bad). God's goodness is more than we can even start to comprehend. His goodness is LIFE. His goodness is LOVE.  His goodness is the very reality of His presence to us - even in our present suffering.


In those weeks after Dan's death, as I attended Mass and prayed the Rosary, God so simply laid it out there: our dying defeats death. It completes the one circle, while starting another.

Most authors/grief counselors will impress upon the truth that grief is not linear. You do not progress in stages - like ascending or descending stairs: instead, it is a spiral. You are experiencing many things as you progress upward (or downward depending on whether you are healing or festering) - and you will circle back to different stages and emotions - and even memories - as you progress. ...and, I think this is also true of our life: we are spiral. Moving upward or downward...and our dying is not the end of our spiral, but a gateway to the next.

Now, let me say this: Jesus' death is the ultimate dying that has defeated death. I am not saying that we are mini-Christs or anything like that. His death is what defeated sin, and therefore eternal death - while opening up the gateway to eternal life. Only Jesus. Likewise, through Him, through our living of this life and carrying our cross: doing the right, loving goodness, and walking humbly with our God, does our dying defeat the cycle of sin/death.

Early on after Dan's death, I remember coming to Mass with the question: "but why death, Lord?" As I prayed the Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary that day, the 4th mystery - where Mary is assumed into heaven (thereby not dying), I knew why we, though Christians and thus "saved" from death, experienced death. Because of sin. Although, we have been washed in the waters of baptism, as we walk through this life, we are still battling sin and temptation. Though we are safe in the grasp of our Father, the enemy is still prowling about like a roaring lion trying to ensnare us, to entrap us, to get us to throw up our hands and not do the right, love goodness, or walk humbly with our God - anything to get us to be ineffective and not bear fruit.  ...and our death is actually like a final thrust of the sword into his heart. A reminder to him that he cannot - and will not - win...and though a void be left, by the grace of God, more will be coming to fill our place.


If you have never read the Book of Wisdom, I highly encourage you to set aside some time and read the first 5 chapters. You will be blest.

Reading 1WISDOM 1:13-15; 2:23-24; 3:1-4

God did not make death,
nor does he rejoice in the destruction of the living.
For he fashioned all things that they might have being;
and the creatures of the world are wholesome,
and there is not a destructive drug among them
nor any domain of the netherworld on earth,
for justice is undying.
For God formed man to be imperishable;
the image of his own nature he made him.
But by the envy of the devil, death entered the world,
and they who belong to his company experience it.

But the souls of the just are in the hand of God,

and no torment shall touch them.

They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; 

and their passing away was thought an affliction

and their going forth from us, utter destruction.

But they are in peace.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

There was something else I wanted to write about today. ...but Feelings gotta feel. So, I'm going down this tunnel looking for some light.

Has anyone else felt the heaviness of the season lately? The heaviness of expectation.

It makes sense when you think about it. Advent: the coming. The preparation for the birth. The month that seems to last 1,331 days instead of the typical 30-31. ...except that with this particular time, it seems to go too fast for one to be adequately prepared, which just adds to the heaviness of expectation.

I have felt that heaviness...it feels like dread. Like this weight that you want to shake, but you can't. It's coming for you; it's here; the time is upon you and you're.just.not.ready. You're not ready, and here it is. ...like a thief in the night.

I've heard the passages about Christ coming "like a thief in the night" many times. ...but until writing the above paragraph...I didn't really realize that's exactly what grief is like. That's exactly what Dan's death felt like to me: a thief in the night. I wasn't ready...but it came anyway.

...it came anyway.

The last 24 hours, I've been quite sad. I was reminded that December 11, 2008 was a pretty significant date in the story of Dan and Jessica. A year ago, I wrote about the start of our relationship.

December 11, 2008: Dan and I attended Esmerelda, a Christmas production put on by my church. Because of this amazing work that God did in my heart from the time we broke up on October 6 (when I was too afraid of losing a potential relationship to invite him to something that was really important to me: afraid) to November 30 (when I wasn't concerned about a relationship, but just wanted to spend time with him), he was attending. For at least the month prior, I had been praying that God would do a miracle in Dan's heart. ...and I thought that night would be the night of the miraculous.

Prior to attending, Dan came over for dinner. Whatever I had made really didn't turn out well. We ate it anyway. The wine, Matchbox from Fireside Winery, was good - and the conversation was excellent. We talked about our families and traditions...and for some reason, I think we talked about Ohio...and it felt so natural, so much like home.

Then, we went to play. It was great. ...then, we went out for dessert at Perkins and I had triple berry pie. We talked a long time; I remember we talked about how Dan had been baptized twice...how his very life (existence) was a miracle.

It was...magical. It was perfect.

December 12, 2008: I was working on two, take-home finals at a local coffee shop (Cafe Diem). ...and, I talked to my dad about the evening...and I realized that I had no other reason to see Dan. I had just had this wonderful night, and now, I realized, I didn't know when I would see him again. The ball was in his court, and I could only wait.

...and I cried. I sat in my car and cried actual tears as I cried out to God in prayer. What my dad had said 2 months earlier when he said that I loved Dan - was right. I loved him and I didn't even know if he liked me back. I had put it all out there...and...what would be next?

I sobbed and sobbed as I asked God to make a way.

I came in to the coffee shop and opened up my email. There was an email from Dan...stating that he had a really nice time and that he would like to see me again. Would I be interested in going to a movie that weekend?

Of course.

That movie was Four Christmases, one of the many Christmas movies in our repertoire.

A couple of days later, we met for a drink to celebrate the end of finals. ...I finally worked up enough courage to invite him to my family Christmas (per my mother's urging). His response was, "...um.....well...." (which is like an eternity) "Well, to be honest, I was kind of hoping for a better offer."
Me: "A better offer? Seriously? Do you know how much courage that took for me to invite you? ...and you said you were waiting for a better offer?"
Dan: "Well, I mean - a closer offer. I mean, you live like an hour and a half away...and that's a long way to go..."
(I agree. It is - which is the whole reason I didn't want to invite him in the first place, Mom.) Instead, I just sit there.
Dan: "I'll go. I'll go."
Me: "ok...."

So, on Christmas Day, Dan drove an hour and a half (one way) to have dinner with the Rohrigs. I was so nervous. I'd never - NEVER - had a boy join me for a family anything - let alone Christmas dinner. It was just my parents, brother and girlfriend and me...but I'm not sure if that means more or less pressure.

It was a lovely dinner. We exchanged some small gifts. My dad gave Dan a hammer. (which we still have) We played A Christmas Story monopoly in couple-pairs which morphed into It's a Wonderful Life monopoly when my dad became the banker with all the money (Mr. Potter) and my brother the staunch hold-out against his take-over (George Bailey).

It was fabulous. ...and suddenly it was 6pm and Dan needed to drive an hour and a half back to Ames and do chores along the way for the Ritter family.


I still wasn't sure how Dan felt about me, but I was pretty sure he liked me. A few days later, we watched the.longest.movie.ever (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button) - but he held my hand for the first time. ...and it was magical. Seriously. It was electric - just like the say in Sleepless in Seattle.


That was my December 2008; nine years ago now. It was magical. It was everything those blasted Hallmark movies portray.

Our subsequent Decembers together were equally as beautiful - and dramatic. (like that one where he proposed) :)

...and that is what makes the present December hard.


I don't really remember what last year was like. I probably was very adament to not let grief ruin the season. I don't know. ...but as I think about when I will do all.the.things, I feel a bit like ghost of our Christmas past is tapping on my shoulder:
remember when Dan proposed? 
remember how Christmas cards were SO your thing?
remember when you received SO many cards the year you moved to Michigan? 
remember when you had someone to spend the day with - regardless of where you were?
remember when you could get a hug any time you wanted? 


The Ghost of Christmas Past is going to come anyway. Grief is going to come anyway. We have a choice: we can let them come or we can try to shut the curtains of our 4-post bed - but, they will still sit there. Conversely, we can sit with the memory - and though it pierces our present - our hearts are being made more tender in the process.

The present is bitter because the past was so sweet. ...and the fear is wondering how it's even possible for someone to experience magic again. Like, is that even fair? Is it fair for someone to get magic twice?


I don't know. What I do know is that this time of Advent is a time where I can allow myself to empty the pain and burden I carry...because a time is coming when the valley will be filled. If I choose to be emptied, I can be filled. I believe that God who promises is a God who does - and that his promise is Emmanuel: God with us. God present-to us. The God who fills us with His very presence. The God of the Impossible, the Inconceivable, the Incarnate.

I will wait for him. I welcome him. ...and though I walk through the valley of the shadow, I will not fear - for He is with me.

I wish I had someone to love me

There's this Dubliners' song, "I wish I had someone to love me," that is currently tearing at my soul. I learned of the song through a book I just finished, Ireland Unhinged, when the author included this line:

Meet me tonight in the moonlight
Meet me tonight all alone
I have a sad story to tell you
I'm telling it under the moon,

Well I wish I had someone to love me
Someone to call me her own
Someone to sleep with me nightly
I’m weary of sleeping alone

Those lines reminded me of an image a friend shared looking out over Dun Laoghaire:

 ...and this week, I've been trying to create this beautiful image as a creative outlet/escape.
But, that song - it is so achingly sad - that I almost can't bear thinking about the image.



...and then, this morning, while reading those Facebook memories, I realized what day it was: October 6.


October 6, 2008.


The day Dan and I broke up.

Immediately, I was back in that place. Back as a 28-year-old feeling the aching crush of hopes dashed wondering, "when?" When will someone ever love me?

Our relationship up to that point was going out on dates to get to know each other. We met April 29, and Dan asked me out that evening. Our first date (dessert) would have been May 3. So, by October, I mean we probably should have been figuring out what we're doing here. We went out on a date every couple of weeks or so. We talked on the phone some.... but, what were we doing? There was so much ambiguity. I wasn't really even sure if he liked me.

At this point, it just felt to me like we were at an impasse. It seemed like there was something separating us...but, I couldn't quite articulate what. The weekend prior, at a retreat, the speaker asked if there was anything in our heart/lives that was keeping us from God - and I knew that mine was Dan. ...but, like not Dan himself - the idea of Dan: the relationship.

I was a 28-year-old woman whose major life goal was to be married and be a mom. Sure, I had experienced some success in my career - but that had never been my priority. My priority...my benchmark for "life success" was to be in a loving, committed relationship: marriage, and raising the fruits of our love. ...and I was a 28-year-old woman who had been in ONE sort-of serious-ish relationship since college. ...and somehow managed to go out on a first date or two about once a year.

And then came Dan. Dan: the first person to EVER ask me out as soon as he met me. The first person that I had gone out an a first date with where I wanted a second date - ever. (the person I'd been in a relationship with before we'd been friends for YEARS before deciding to be in a relationship, and so, I don't even think there was a date. weird.)  I loved talking to Dan. I enjoyed getting to know him. ...but, I kind of got this vibe that he didn't really know where to put me...friend zone? girlfriend?

...and I realized that I was also at an impasse. I wanted him to like me more than I wanted to be honest with him. ...I don't know how to say this exactly - but I was afraid of being rejected by him (because I so desperately wanted a relationship - to move forward with my life) - so I was afraid to be my whole self - to reveal my whole heart to him.

So, there we were on October 6, sitting in my friend's living room, realizing we were at an impasse.
I knew he came over that night to break up with me (the Holy Spirit intuited it to me - so I had prepared my heart). When he finally got around to saying that he didn't think we should date anymore, I nodded. ...and then my entire mind went blank.

We stared at each other for awhile, as I waited for something to come into my mind to say.
What are you afraid of?

"What are you afraid of?" God, why would I say that? I don't even know what that means. What are you afraid of? Like...with us? in general? I don't get it. I can't ask him a question that I don't even understand myself. that's, like, super weird. Come on, God. don't make me ask this."

...and still nothing in my head except: What are you afraid of?

Finally, Dan (perhaps a little exasperated) said, "Do you have anything to say?"

So, I finally relented and said, "I guess. Um...what are you afraid of?"

He looked at me, "What am I afraid of? Like....?"

I shrugged my shoulders, "I don't even know; ...I just feel like God wants me to ask you that question."

"Like in life? or with us?"

"Both?"

...and then, it was like the floodgates opened and the impasse was decimated from the rush of the water.

Dan shared that he was afraid of disappointing his family, of not living up to expectations - feeling this weight to be something - to be successful. ...and with me, he just didn't feel like he was the right person for me - that he was enough for me.

And, finally, I said (exasperated), "I've just been waiting for you to figure out how amazing I am!"

He sat up straighter and looked at me and said, "You are amazing. ...and you deserve to be with someone who can love you."

...and I think that is when I started to cry. To be seen, to be known, to be loved for who you are (and who you want to be) - that is the greatest gift. That is what my heart had been yearning to find in another. ...and here was this guy - who was both articulating what I wanted to hear, and at the same time refusing to be the one.

...and I started to cry, too, because, though I never would have acknowledged it, I loved him. Not like you LOVE the person you're going to marry, but...the fresh kind, the new kind of love where you realize that you genuinely LIKE this person: who they are and the life that they bring to your life - and you want to be around that person just for those reasons (and a billion more)...

He looked at me, "Why are you crying?"

"Because I genuinely liked being your friend. ...and I will miss you...I will really miss you."

"We can't be friends?"

I shook my head. "That doesn't work. I just don't know how I would do that."

You see, Dan had been friends with every (save but one) girl he'd dated. I'd dated one other person - and it had been impossible for us to remain friends.

We parted ways that night - not knowing what the future would hold. I remember lying in my bed that night as a train rumbled past, praying, "God, if it's your will, please bring him back. Please, please bring him back." 


The next day, I lamented to my dad, "Dad, I just wish someone would love me!"
(emphasis on every word in that sentence) :) 

He replied, "If that's what you heard, then you weren't listening. He didn't say that he didn't love you; he said that he didn't think he could. ...and he told you before you were too invested - that is actually a very loving thing to do. He could've just dated you for a year - and then broke up with you. Or worse, married you."

I thought about those words all day as I nursed my broken heart. That night, I spent time thanking God for Dan. He might not have been the one, but he showed me that I was desirable enough to ask out right away; that there are men who still do that; someone who actually recognized my value...and if God could do that once, He could do it again.





...and now, here it is: October 6, 2017.

nine years later...and my heart feels so much like it's in that same place again.

My heart, this deep trove of feeling...bursting with treasured memories, and longing for hopes of a future...I look at this picture, and I swear I am there, and I feel every ounce of this song: 

I am standing on the edge of this pier, staring at the expanse between us, and feeling every bit separated from the bustle of Dublin. Just the moon and me.

Meet me tonight in the moonlight
Meet me tonight all alone
I have a sad story to tell you
I'm telling it under the moon,

Well I wish I had someone to love me
Someone to call me their own
Someone to stay with me always
I’m weary of being alone

The path to healing: Sitting with what was lost

The last week of classes, I felt like "my bucket" - full of the scraps of paper that described who I was, the things that filled my heart and my life, which was already sitting precariously had been viciously knocked to the ground.

I told my spiritual director, Deacon Wayne, this on May 3. He said, "Jessica, I want you to sit. on the ground. with your empty bucket and all that was poured out from it - and pay it homage. Show it reverence. Honor what you had and what was lost. You can determine after that what you will pick up, what you will carry with you, what still fits."

My grandma was right. (of course she was. why I ever doubt my grandparents' wisdom is beyond me.) Eventually, we have to face what we lost. We have to sit with it. We have to recognize what we lost. ...and then, only then, can we begin to recognize who we have become and embrace ourselves in this newness.

Sitting with what was lost. This is what I need to do. This is my challenge. My summer. My anniversary. Sitting with what was lost - Dan - at the cemetery. 

In the weeks that followed this journal entry leading up to when I actually did sit with what was lost, I really felt my emptiness. I could start to feel the pull between life and death; between forward and past.

I spent Mother's Day with my mom and grandma in Iowa. (From the week of 5/17)

Now I'm home...and now I am finally feeling the loneliness when I return to the apartment (where I lived with Dan). I would rather be at my parents'; this place makes me sad. It doesn't fit anymore.

I feel that...and...what I really feel is an ache in my bones. Dan is gone.
Dan is gone.
Dan is gone and I have a house full of stuff for him...and he's not going to use it.
I have a house full of "us"...and no us. Stuff for our life together...and no life.
This sucks.

Being home (at my parents), in the presence of others, I feel like I can live again. Like I am inspired to take care of myself...but being here, I want to hole up.

I feel that resistance building up in my soul, which usually happens when I'm on the verge of a new thing.

I just miss Dan so effing much.

In an interview later that week, a candidate said "someone died," in response to a question about the needs of the department - so casually that it took my breath away.

I had to swallow it down, the tears at my door.
Someone.
anyone.

MY someone. MINE.
Dan Kiesling was his name. 

(From 5/25 - the day I finally sat)

God,

My heart is so sad. I am so sad. I feel like I am sadness itself. I feel far from everything I once was. I feel like a shell of sadness walking around.

I am just really struggling to see the good, the hope, the purpose. I don't feel like I have a place anymore. My place was beside Dan, with Dan - and all that was here. I was content to let him shine, and bask in his light.

and now, how can I go on?
How can I do this without someone? I need someone to live with, to live for...people keep me going and I feel so lonely.

It's like I was running on adrenaline for the first 6 months after Dan died - and now, it's like reality...and I don't like it.
I don't want it.
...but I don't get a choice.
It sucks.

I guess I have a choice in how I respond...that just feels like so much work.

I spent the day of May 25 reading through our old Marriage Encounter dialogues, recording the little ways that we recognized love in the other. For what fills our buckets other than love?

My Bucket:

•  Working with Dan: spending time together in the morning, 
• driving to work together,
• listening to Dan Patrick, the daily readings, Our Daily Bread,
• instant messaging about random stuff, 
• walking down the hall at MSU to bounce ideas off each other,
• lunches together,
• barefoot walks around campus,
• walking down the stairs (at the UA) and seeing him waiting for me, wearing his aviators - or his cowboy hat - or his Ray Bans - and hearing his huff (because I'd taken longer than I'd said)
• waiting for Dan (at the UA) and seeing him walk down the sidewalk, illuminated by the setting sun

• Feeling complete in his presence
• Being told by his touch that I am loved, cared for, wanted, desired, chosen, secure and peaceful
• Compliments
• Becoming the power-couple of CALS and Animal Science
• Laughing
• The gift that Dan is
• Someone being for me
• Being loved, the object of someone's affection
• Living the call to unity
• Practicing our faith by living out our Sacramental call to be Jesus to/for each other
• Feeling fully alive: the rush of purpose, being fulfilled, by living out that Sacramental call
• Feeling wholeness, completion
• Living out our call to practice the presence of love
• Everything being tinged with positivity, with possibility
• Dan pushing me to NOT focus on the negativity - or the fear - or the sorrow
• Compliments on my cooking
• DIALOGUE
• Someone to rest on
• Someone concerned about providing for my needs; someone actively pursuing that need
• Being someone's someone
• Being needed to make that someone's day - to help them feel their worth and importance
• Having someone seek to understand your feelings and how "you tick"
• Dan's way of always knowing how to make me laugh and smile when I was sad/upset/mad
• KNOWING (and having) someone in your corner - fighting for you, having your back
• Impressing Dan by looking good (having someone to be motivated to look good/fashionable for)
• Being desired
• Experiencing forgiveness, resentment, disappointment, and joy
• Laughing together
• TOUCH
• An abundance of inside jokes
• Receiving generous love
• Conversations in the car
• Singing together
• Praying the Rosary together
• Being Respected
• Being Accepted
• Date nights at Buffalo Wild Wings
• Being together at Mass (especially holding hands during the Gospel reading and through the Eucharistic liturgy) 
• Watching and talking sports together
• Someone to go along with my ideas
• Being the organizer,
• catalyst,
• Joy,
• Light-heartedness
• Being Dan's greatest supporter
• Being Dan's cheerleader
• Pursuing Dan's dream was my dream - because my dream was to be my husband's best helper
• Feeling HOME (wherever I was) because I was with Dan
• Settling down and developing roots
• SACRAMENT
• Being seen and appreciated through dialogue, "hearing it" on paper - 
• "your compassion,"
• "Your mercy - looking for the good in others,"
• "You bring the fun - always smiling,"
• "Your ability to get me to look at things with a different point of view,"
• "Your value of family and friends"
• Being grounded, supported, anchored, connected and purposeful
• The hope of a family, of being parents

Honestly, I had wanted to avoid this day - a "grief day." But in recognizing what I lost, I finally gave our life a voice. Marriage is such a gift. The GREATEST gift. The best hardest thing I've ever done. The little things ARE the big things. The little things are what makes up the "us." They mattered. They happened. We have to give them the honor that they have blessed us with.

What Grief Feels Like: feeling the void

[This is the start of an old post - started the first week of May and finished today]

Apparently today is "National Widows Day." ...and last week was National Infertility Awareness week. ...and last week was the last week of class. ...and April 29 was the day Dan and I met. ...and May 29 is our wedding anniversary.

Every day is a day.

But with grief...every day is effort.

And I don't think people outside of grief get that. I know I didn't. I didn't realize how much work it takes to just get through things. It's not something you think about it. I don't think about how much work each day is...or how empty I am ... until something brings my attention to it.

Two weeks ago, I realized that I have been "filling the void" rather than feeling it. Last week, that became very clear to me. The person who will be filling the position that was Dan's visited last week. I was really surprised at how hard the first day was for me. [point of clarification: I think the person hired is going to do a great job and I look forward to working with him, which makes it harder to explain...that's the sword of grief, I guess]

The people I work with are very quick to say that Dan isn't being replaced. It's very nice. But... it's not really accurate. I get it that Dan isn't being replaced...but, his place is. Very soon I will no longer say, when people ask about the livestock judging program, "Well, that person was my husband; he passed away in July." The place will be filled by someone else.

The last year for me has been a slow awareness to the reality that most of you grasped at the funeral. Dan died.

For me, the last year, has felt like I'm Katniss Everdeen from Mockingjay (the third book in the Hunger Games series):

"I am Katniss Everdeen.
I am 17 years old.
I am from District 12.
District 12 doesn't exist anymore...."

"I am Jessica Kiesling.
I am 38 (no!); I am 37 years old. [for some reason remembering that I am my age has been very hard]
I am married to Dan Kiesling.
Dan died.
Your husband, Dan Kiesling, died.
On July 11, 2016.
It was real."

Every day, I have to remind myself the facts of my life because they didn't feel real. They just can't be real!

Everyday, you feel a responsibility to be "okay" enough so that others can go on with their lives and not worry about you. It's a very hard burden to carry and seems impossible to let go. You MUST have someone outside the point of impact who can carry that with you. You MUST have someone outside the story who will  let you grieve.

It has to be someone outside of your story. Why? Because those people must grieve also - and you cannot deal with your own grief and someone else's. They are too big of burdens to carry. The person who helps you shoulder that burden must be willing and able to enter into your grief without adding to it.

My biggest challenge, and greatest gift has been finding those people and then allowing myself to grieve openly. I feel a need to understand my own feeling about them - because most people are NOT good listeners. Most people want to "figure out" your feelings instead of just letting you feel them.

This week (upon returning from Ireland), I am finally realizing what CS Lewis meant when he said, "I did not realize that grief felt so much like fear." Grief can paralyze you. Overwhelm you. Throw you into a full-on panic attack. It feels exactly like fear. And when those feelings come, you need someone to jump right into that pit with you, so that you realize that you're not drowning. There is a bottom, and you can stand up. Someone to look into your eyes, and say, "You. are. okay. because I have you."

Bear Ye One Another's Burdens -  St. Patrick Cathedral in Dublin

When you know someone who is grieving, I ask you to challenge yourself to be a listener. Don't try to solve. Don't ask questions. Don't advise. Just jump into the pit, and hold them. Look into their eyes, and just let them be.

If you are grieving, find someone outside that immediate circle of loss who can be your person. It's like when you're flying, "First secure the mask to your own face, and then you can help your loved ones." It's very natural for us to want to delay helping ourselves, to think we are doing something better by avoiding our grief to help another - but you aren't. Only by embracing yourself where you are and finding the HOPE Jesus has for you in the moment can you begin to offer anything to those also grieving in your circle.

Allow yourself to feel the void - that is the only route through which healing can come.
FEEL don't fill.

What Grief feels like: Living Plan B

Every semester, I give a talk to students called "Preparing for Jobs that Don't Exist Yet: and other impossible things." During that class, I present the idea to students that the idea of having a "Plan B" to vet school is...no way to live. So, instead, I posit the premise that students recognize the "parallel plan" that exists in preparing for life, whether that is to be a candidate for vet school, grad school, or working. Who wants to live their life as "this is my plan B"? NOBODY! 

...until.

Last week, like a ton of bricks - or more aptly, a bucket containing all your reasons "why" was knocked off your head - it hit me.

plan b. 

except plan b, for me, it's not a plan. it's some impossible reality that i'm living. 

but it's not impossible. it is reality.

Fifteen years ago, I was a senior graduating from college. And "my dream job" at that time was this: get married, have kids, be a professional volunteer in my community. [essentially, be my mom] Reality was that I was graduating having been on an average of 1 date/year of college - which meant that my 'dream husband' hadn't materialized in those four years. So, I had to go to plan B: get a job. build a career. figure out what God wanted me to do with my life. 

My "Plan B" was putting my degree to use. :) In college, I developed myself as a professional - but never put a lot of thought into constructing or identifying a path. I just identified what captured my heart, and identified those as "good fits." Then, after a brief, "failed" stint at the DNR, I identified the 3 things I wanted most in my next job. ...and TRIO Educational Talent Search fit that incredibly well.

During that time of living my Plan B, I grew in so many ways - but the primary two would have been spiritually and professionally. While living my "Plan B," I began to discover what I was capable of as a professional. I realized that pursuing a Master's degree so that I could obtain jobs where I could apply my strengths to do more good was necessary - so, I did it. Because of my spiritual life, I realized that the best path for me in that education was agricultural education...because, even though I'd been "living Plan B," my heart still yearned for the rolling hills - for the life that 18-year-old dreamed of: the wife of a farmer, the mom of farm kids, impacting her community. 

...and God opened a window. 

April 29, 2008. 

I met Dan Kiesling, the graduate student shepherd at the Iowa State Sheep Teaching Farm. (I didn't even know that was a thing) He was the 2000 Michigan FFA State President. He was interesting to talk to. He was funny. He was interested in me. He enjoyed talking to me. He danced with me. He asked me out that night. ...and even, when I had plans for Friday night, he pressed for Saturday instead. ...and when I had plans for Saturday night - and I countered with a late night dessert - he accepted. 

If you know our story, you know that it was immediate. ...and it wasn't. It wasn't quick. It wasn't easy. Both of us had our own mountains that stood in our way. ...and when we (individually) realized that we couldn't stand in the way of a great opportunity, a great person...then, the breeze came in through the window. 

You guys, that is what Dan represented in my life: the breath of fresh air. Breath. Life. 

Being married to Dan gave a breath to my life that...I knew I was meant for. I knew I was meant to be a wife. And I thought I was meant to be a mom. For those five years that I was Dan's wife, my life wasn't easy - but it was full of life - of breath - of richness - of purpose - of love. It was full.

I was full. 

My cup overflowed.

Last week, through a series of events, I was jarred to reality: I. am. empty. 

Are you familiar with the idea of "filling your bucket"? The idea is that encounters in our day either fill our bucket or empty the bucket. When working with others, the premise is that we fill others' buckets through our own - but also that they are filling ours' in return, so that we never go empty.

My image on Friday was this: a bucket filled with little slips of paper, carried on my head, was knocked - violently - to the ground...and my bucket and its contents were strewn all over the ground.

...and, I. was. shattered. 

Shattered.

Empty.

My dream job...a wife and mom. 

My reality...a widow at 36. a childless widow. working at her husband's alma mater, in his office suite, his dream job for his beloved department, pouring every.ounce.of.energy into students' development - and getting raked for those efforts being not enough and too much - longing for grace, understanding, love... 

Shattered.

Empty.

A life of confetti paper littering the ground.

That is what grief feels like.

The past ten months, I have done what I knew to do: keep going. I did my job. I tried to focus. I fulfilled my commitments. I put on pants when others would have stayed home. I poured it out. All that action: I tried to fill the void. Not consciously, but the void Dan left, I tried to fill. 

...and now (instead), I am feeling it. I feel the void. I feel the emptiness. 

...and now, I am going to sit on the ground with my confetti life, and I am going to pay reverence to them. I am going to honor and recognize the love that has been poured into my life. 

For the foreseeable future, I am going to just sit with my bucket...and I am going to let God fill my soul with breath.

This is what healing looks like. This is what hope is.