Pilgrimage to Ireland: Pre-game

Now that I've caught you up on what was going on in my life prior to taking off for Ireland, I should probably catch you up on the story of how Ireland came about.

I have always wanted to go to Ireland, but until now haven't really had the opportunity to go. I first traveled abroad when I was 16, a 10-day trip to Italy and Greece with my art teacher, her husband and about twelve others (mostly from our high school) including my cousin. Even though Italy was first, Ireland has always been first in my heart.

Like SO.MANY Americans, I have roots in Ireland. My maternal grandmother is 100% Irish. I know a little bit about my Irish family roots - my family came from County Fermanaugh in northern Ireland, quite possibly as a result of the oppression of Catholics. Was that the attraction to Ireland? Sure, part of it. But really, I've just always felt like Ireland is part of me. After this past year, the past two years of trauma and pain and loss, I felt like somehow if I went to Ireland, I would find me. Find. Recover. Discover. ...but reconnect with ME.

After Dan passed away, I thought, "I want to travel. I want to use this gift from Dan to see the world. To go on a pilgrimage."

In late April, as I felt emptied by grief...I stumbled across a post on Facebook from The Catholic Traveler: "We have 2 spots left for the pilgrimage to Ireland!" I clicked the link and saw "8 days/nights in Ireland," the dates, the price, and thought, "I could do this!" I didn't say yes. The next day I was talking with a friend/mentor and he said, "Jessica. You need to go. You should go. Do it. They'll find a way to cover the last week of orientation. You will love it. You need to go."

So, I came home that night, emailed Mountain and said, "I'm in!"

And that was it. I WAS GOING TO IRELAND.

That was all that mattered.

I didn't look at pictures. I didn't look at where we were going, where we were staying, or care who I was going with. I WAS GOING TO IRELAND.

At New Year's this year, I chose "healing" as my word. I wanted to find a way to heal. So, traveling to Ireland, this place I have always felt a deep connection to, which was grounded in the faith with other Catholics and Mass EVERY DAY: sounds like healing to me. Having to make ZERO decisions while visiting the place I've always wanted to be? Sounds like healing to me.

and away we went.

Yes, I did eventually read through the details again. No, I never did read my Rick Steves' Guide to Ireland. Yes, I did initiate the "get to know you" conversation on our Facebook page because well, I'm me, and because I needed to assure my in-laws that I knew at least a little about the 20ish people I'd be spending 8-9 days with.

Just me in some crazy Lularoe leggings, posing on a rock

Did I freak out about what to pack wondering if what I would pack would be "enough"? Yes. Did I realize that part of the reason I was freaking out about these clothes was because I was wondering if I was actually enough? Because I was afraid of not being accepted? Because I thought the "right" clothes might help me be more acceptable? Yes. Yes I did. ...and then, the Holy Spirit gently reminded me of Matthew 6: the lilies of the field neither toil nor spin, yet they are clothed with more splendor than Solomon; God knows exactly what you need - seek first the kingdom of God, and everything you need will be given. 


Got it. Did I get everything packed into a carry-on? Yes. Did I have everything I needed? Yes. Did I receive FAR more than I ever expected? Oh yes. In the next few days, I'll catch you up on the details of the trip?

Panoramic view of The Burren

Embracing the W

A year ago at this time, I could not fathom referring to myself as a widow.

I hated the word.

I hated the thought that the word now defined me.

I wanted to resist this reality.



So, I did. :) Just like I continue to call Dan my husband because calling him "my late husband" seems like a lie - because I was the late one, he wasn't. :)


The week of my trip to Ireland, I had this dream. I had been singing worship songs with this (Irish) (younger) man, and we had a fantastic connection. After awhile, he said, "So, I see that you have a ring on your finger. Are you married, then?"



"Actually...I'm a widow."


The first time I used that phrase was in a dream and it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

It fits, now. It fits.

And, I used that response to quite a few inquiries while I got to know my group and others on the trip.

Just one of the small ways that God is guiding me, ever so gently, to embrace this new life. It does not happen at all at once. Everything takes time...and there are days where it feels like 2 steps forward and 3 steps back, but the key is that I am being led - and I am being led gently and lovingly. This is the path to healing - trusting our path and our healing to the One who created us.

When the Waters of Grief Overtake You

7/11/17

10:11 am

A year ago at this time, I received the call that Dan's body was shutting down and there was nothing more to do. His kidneys had stopped filtering the poison in his body; his blood had stopped clotting; the cancer was raging - he was stopping.

...and the waters that had been swirling at my ankles, came up to my knees...

I wasn't ready. That morning I'd told my dad I didn't want to make any more decisions. And all that followed were decisions I never wanted to make. Certainly not then, at age 36.

We spent that drive to Ann Arbor in song, in prayer, pleading for Jesus to come - when most certainly, He was already in our midst.

I arrived at the hospital and was told that Dan had a moment where he was aware and nodded that he was ready to go...now, I had to do the impossible: let him.


...and the waters of grief began to surround me, coming to my waist, then my chest...

At 11, the priest came; then the doctors. 6:30 was chosen as the time we would have our little Mass for Dan, the Last Rites.


...and everything went into slow motion. Everything feels like you're underwater. Sounds are muffled. Faces of Dan's best friends and family are blurred. Time seems to be nonexistent, yet ever approaching. 

I wanted to spend as much time in the sun that day.

...and the waters came, overtaking me into grief - into darkness and sadness,
where everything feels surreal,
where time becomes irrelevant,
where you drift along,
further and further from shore....

I never thought of that day like this until now.

Recognizing that grief feels a lot like drowning...the waters of death coming for you, too. 

Cynthia Rasmussen says that a spouse dies, too, when theirs dies. I guess, but I didn't know it.


However, upon reflection, I think it's more like baptism. We were baptized into Christ's death - perhaps then, the same with our spouse. Their death can be a baptism for us - Jesus raises their spirits to new life, and breathes a new life into our souls.

I think of my Godson, Zander's, prayer for Dan that day:
"I know Dan is about to die...can you just clear all that water out? ...but in a few days, he will be raised to life!" Somehow, that 5 year old knew about the waters of death that sweep over us.

In light of all of this, it makes sense now, how I have felt "buoyed by Hope," this past year. I have been carried along by the waters of death and grief. Sometimes threatened to be taken under, sometimes your tears leave you gasping for air - as if through crying your heart can finally breathe.

More often than not, I have felt carried along - held and supported. I knew this was Jesus, for my Hope has a foundation and a name.

As a year circles around, I am realizing that I can do more than just ride the waves of grief, held captive by them.

Dan is not held captive by death. His death has freed him to be fully united in life with Jesus Christ. He is not just a body in the ground, but a being around us.

And so, I also do not have to be captive to grief because I know the One who walks on water. I can take his hand, and through the power of Him who raised Jesus from the dead, find life again. Through Jesus, there is life and there is life abundant - no matter the circumstance.

Jesus is not an idea. He is real. He is my real Hope. He is my real Way to Truth and Life. He is Life. "In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."

Fumbling Forward, Buoyed by Hope

7/9/17:

I tried to get through Mass today without crying, though I don't know why [probably that responsibility trait], which I did...though I choked back some tears during a few songs. I prayed for my father-in-law's heart to breathe, to find air, to find life.

I am now facing the rest of the day...and I am at a loss.

Tired with sorrow,
tired with grief,
tired with strength.

"Come to me,
all you who labor and are heavy burdened,
and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you,
for my yoke is easy,
and my burden light."

Pierced.
My heart feels pierced while I try to work to pass the time.
And I thought,
"I thought I had moved on from this.
I though I was healing.
I thought I was moving forward.
I thought I was ready for life,
for what comes next.
But right now, I don't ever want to move forward."

That's not true.
It's not true that I don't want to "ever"
move forward;
it's just that I didn't think forward
would sting -
I didn't think possibility
would pierce -
forward seems like
leaving something behind,
or lugging it as baggage behind you.

I don't want that.
I want my burden to be light.
I want to carry light.
I want to carry Dan's light with me into the future,
pressing on further into God's light -
(finally) letting him show me the way,
leading.

Accepting Dan as light,
recognizing him as light
is when I feel most light,
most loved, most free.

He was so heavy.
When he would sleep,
I swear every part of his body
felt ten times heavier.
He was so grounded,
So "of the earth,"
So sensory.
For that reason, it was hard to imagine him in heaven.
[Not that I thought he'd gone to hell, but where? where could he be?]

Then God showed me Dan,
transformed by love,
through love,
for love,
receiving his crown for his love.

and this fit.
Transformed Dan: by love, through love - 
the corruptible replaced with the incorruptible - LIGHT,
fully formed, at rest, at peace, HOME.

He is not what he was.
He is what we will become -
should we choose the path of transformation and light, 
by way of the Cross.

What the path to Healing Looks Like: Redeeming Love, Redeeming Death

So, my friends and patient listeners, something happened during Mass the day before our anniversary, which has completely changed my outlook. But, first, I want to share my journal entry from Easter:

4/16/17

Here is the thing: Easter celebrated in the wake of experiencing the death of a loved one is a much more REAL experience.

It is a verifiable fact that Jesus of Nazareth died.
It is a verifiable fact that Jesus rose to life - an entire religion based upon a lie would not have survived 2000 years. It would be exposed as a lie. The followers martyred in the immediate years after Jesus' resurrection by the Romans, had the Resurrection been a lie, would have been the last (followers of JC). But, they weren't.

This strange sect of Judaism grew. It kept growing in the face of intense persecution and orders forbidding it to spread. If these were lies - it wouldn't have continued.

Jesus lived.
Jesus DIED.

Jesus died. Fully dead, he was entombed.

Then, he came back to life - and remains alive - fully alive in heaven - body and soul.

It's important that Jesus ascended into heaven - because we need to note that the body is part of our spiritual life - not just our soul.

Today, I visited Dan's tomb. His body is there. I believe his soul is somewhere else. Near me. Near Jesus. ...but not with his body. His body is buried. ...but someday there will be a resurrection of the dead.

5/28/17

Today at Mass, during the Liturgy of the Eucharist, while singing the Agnus Dei [Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world; have mercy on us. Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world; have mercy on us. Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world; grant us peace.], I was overcome with thankfulness.

I was "filled to all fullness" (today's reading from Ephesians 1) with Jesus - expectation and gratitude to be one with Jesus in the Eucharist - to receive Him and not a symbol - but the living God.

This thankfulness was a cementing of my commitment to Catholicism.

(I know some of you will be surprised by that statement; just bear with me.) there was a thought in my head as I was joining the church (6.5 years ago) that maybe I wouldn't always be Catholic - like if Dan died early - maybe I would go back to being a Protestant.

...and today, NO. Today, it was like I could never go back. I am Catholic and I love being Catholic. I love Jesus more today and know Him in a more profound, deeper way than I did as an Evangelical - and in a way I never could as an Evangelical - and it is ALL because of Dan.

I was just sitting there (in church), so thankful for Dan - so immensely, eternally thankful.

...and God suddenly filled my mind with this image of Dan receiving his crown of life, and there was a huge jewel in his crown - and that jewel represented me. My jewel - my commitment to Catholicism and to Jesus - that is Dan's jewel.

...and that is my first vision of Dan in heaven.

...and I was so happy for Dan...so filled with all the fullness: gratitude, joy, immense happiness.

Prior to this, I just couldn't picture Dan in heaven. He was a person who was just so "of the earth" - not ethereal, that I just had a hard time imagining. There's a belief that when your loved one enters heaven, you'll know. Since time doesn't exist out there, I don't know "when" Dan received his crown; I just know that he has.

Just get married already. Stop making excuses.

Announcement: I interrupt the string of heart-wrenching posts about sadness to get on a soapbox.

To the couple that's been dating for 2 years+ (and you are 24* or older): just get married already.
Or don't - and break up.

But, seriously, you should have that sh*t figured out already. If you don't, you are just wasting the other person's time - the person you claim to care about, but apparently aren't willing to make a lifetime commitment to - but are willing to tie up the line so that nobody else can have a chance. Figure it out already.

Having experience the Sacrament of Marriage and the graces that flow from it...marriage is the greatest gift. Our marriage because it was a Sacrament has allowed me to continue experiencing love and understanding God's love for me because of the way that Dan loved me in a much richer way. I KNOW love, even when my person has passed from this life. This is an amazing miracle, possible through marriage.

I get it, not everyone is Catholic and not everybody believes in God. Got it. Then at least go to the courthouse and get the legal documentation that will protect you in the event that one of your passes unexpectedly. You have ZERO control over the end of your life. Do you really want your assets to be tied up in probate? or to go to your parents? or to your next of kin - and that person isn't the person you've lived with and loved - because you failed to give them the legal protection as your spouse?

We had been married five years. We had just changed jobs (well a year prior), and filling out that beneficiary paperwork is time-consuming, so we hadn't. However, since I was Dan's legal spouse, we didn't need it.

If you're going to buy a piece of property with someone, why are you dragging your feet to marry them?

I don't get it.

Now you have my opinion on the matter.

Let's resume keeping Kleenex in business.

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.

Life in the Midst of Grief: Savor the Pie

It's been a hard day. The days leading up to the 'monuments' (the days when a big thing happened) are - but, even moreso. I want to hold back tears, in order to hold on to the contentment and peace that I have felt the last few days/weeks. ...but, that doesn't lead to healing. So, for a good two hours, the tears came. They came quietly and built up into the sobbing gasp...and then, my heart breathes.

Once the tears subside, the exhaustion comes. At this point, I was hungry, so I sat down to eat my leftover cherry pie - handmade by our dear friend Jon. I planned to eat while reading...because sometimes, that's what you do when you're grieving. You try to do all the things to distract yourself.

So, while I sat to do this, I felt this urge: Savor the pie.

I was transported back to the conversation with Dan: I love that you live life because I can't.

Savor the pie.

Dan loved pie. He told me that raspberry pie was his favorite, but cherry pie was his go-to. He loved homemade cherry pies, of course - but he loved cherry pie so much that he would even eat the Hostess cherry pies. [I mean, I like pie - but I would never succumb to that. I guess I'm a pie snob. Dan was not.]

Savor the pie...because I can't.

Dan savored life, but especially food and drink. When I read through our year and a half worth of Marriage Encounter dialogues, there is a recurrent appreciation for my ...meal that I just cooked. [and, of course, I delighted in preparing those meals because it's joy to do things that are so appreciated]

Savor the pie.

So, I did. I savored the pie, enjoying the delicious interplay between tart and sweet. Each bite was appreciated and delighted in, not overlooked - not consumed as a distraction...delighted in.

Whatever your pie moment today, savor it - because you're here, right now, and this is your chance to live.

What Grief Feels Like: Entering my own Holy Week

Tuesday, which was the Fourth of July - a celebration for most of you, was the start of my holy week.

For Christendom, Catholics especially, Holy Week is the span from Jesus' triumphal entry to Jerusalem (Palm Sunday) through his death to Easter. ...and a year ago, July 4 marked our holy week. In one week, I'd gone from triumphant celebration of the Fourth (and a medal placing in a 5k) to becoming a widow. Upon reflecting, I realize this is my holy week. Dan's holy week. Our holy week.

July 4, 2016 - I woke up early to run the Corunna Firecracker 5K with Charles (my brother-in-law), Nate (nephew), and Karen (friend). Charles placed first in his age group, and I placed second. It was my best time of the year thus far. Dan chose not to come because he was in so much pain. Later in the day, he opted not to come to the Mason "tractor parade" either because of the pain.

July 5, 2016 - when I got home from work, Dan told me that he'd cried twice because of all the pain he was in

July 6, 2016 - after my run, when I got home, Dan grabbed my hand and told me that he loved me. When I sat down and asked him why, he said, "because you run. because you have dance parties in your office. because you live life, and you love life. because you can, and I can't."

July 7, 2016 - Dan invited his mom and dad over for supper. We had turkey loaf and some other things that Dan loved. We watched "Mom's Night Out" with his parents. Dan slept in our bed that night. Dan started to cough that night.

July 8, 2016 - We went to the U of M for our normal Friday doctor's visit and chemo. His oxygen levels were lower, and our doctor immediately moved to admit us. Dan found Deacon Wayne when he was getting some blood work done. For some reason, I couldn't stop crying that day. Deacon Wayne came to see us in the afternoon. He said, "Detachment, huh?" ...and I realized that I was so afraid that this was it. I told Dan that I was afraid this was the end. He said, "It's not the end," and we took a nap together.... and then, he got admitted.

...and all the days started to move in a weird slow motion, with every day getting worse. Of those 3 blurred days, my most vivid memories from Saturday and Sunday are praying with my sister-in-law and then with my best friend Pam...and through tears saying, "If this is your will to take him, I know it will be good. But, I don't want you to do it. But, I know you will make it good. But if there is any way, please not now."

I've realized that these were my Gethsemane moments. My moments in the Garden (literally - each time was outside in the sunshine) where I begged God to "let this cup pass from me," and finally resolving, "not as I will, but Yours be done." My last Gethsemane prayer was in the hour before Dan was administered Last Rites, and I prayed with Deacon Wayne. I had no idea how to let Dan go, and I will never "let him go" because he is mine and I am his. We're just holding onto God's hands now, in a much different fashion.

I know what that week was like for me. But, I have no idea what it was like for Dan. Before falling asleep on the 3rd, I talked to Dan about this time last year and told him that I have no idea what it was like for him.

I woke up to "Million Reasons" by Lady Gaga. ...and when I sat down to read the lyrics and hear the song, it fits (for the most part).

Last year at this time, Dan was in so much pain. So much pain that he couldn't leave the house; so much pain that I felt helpless - I didn't know how to make any of this better, and it was so hard to stay in his presence because there was nothing I could do and just watching was excruciating. I did, though - I did stay, I was here - but I think my mind has blocked part of it.

I'm entering the last week. The last, unbearable, unfathomable week.

July 8 was the day I couldn't stop crying. The day Dan wanted his parents to come to the hospital, which he usually didn't because he didn't want to fuss...our last good day together. ...and every day after that just slowly spun out of control...like a helicopter going down in slow motion.

What was it like for Dan? I know that on July 5, he cried twice. He told me it was because the pain was so bad, and I believe that, but I also wonder if God didn't visit him and let him know what was about to happen...because then he told me about how much he loved that I lived life, and slept in our bed for the first time in weeks and held me, and we had dinner with his mom and dad for our last night at home.

"I bow down to pray
to try to make the worse feel better,
Lord show me the way to cut through all this worn out leather...
I have a hundred million reasons to walk way -
but, Baby, I just need one good to stay."

I know Dan held on so long, fought so hard - for me. He told me so. I know he didn't want to leave, to let go - but his body physically could not do it. It fell apart around him. It had given him a million reasons to let go - and he held on for a good one, good one, good one, good one, good one....until it was no longer possible.



You guys...death is real. It exists. It hurts more than anything I have experienced in my life, and the impact will be with me throughout my life. But Dan was right. It wasn't the end. Death does not have the final say: love does. Jesus conquered death - and though we must each endure it, it does not have to be the end. Jesus' resurrection redeemed death - meaning that those who believe in him, through our own death can enter into holiness through that gateway.

“We are not meant to die merely in order to be dead. God could not want that for the creatures to whom he has given the breath of life. We die in order to live.”

Elisabeth Elliot