Overcoming: the diagnosis, the death, the darkness

Toward the beginning of October, I'd said that I would write when little things prompted. Apparently, for the last three weeks, I've not been prompted by much. ;) Or, rather...the words didn't just flood my mind.

This morning, though, the words came with this little headline: "Dear Christians, please stop saying everything happens for a reason...."

Yes, please do. 

Sometimes the reason things happen is because they are the consequences of a series of stupid decisions. Sometimes the reason things happen is because they are the consequences of a series of sacrificial choices in the moment in the hopes of a better outcome down the road - and then, they are. Sometimes the reason things happen is because of sin, brokenness, hurt, and death. Sometimes the reason things happen is because in this life, we will have trouble. (because of those aforementioned)

In this life, you will have trouble....

Jesus himself told us so. In this life, we will have trouble. For some reason, I thought that if God was really good, though, He would exempt me from this. If God were really good, if God really loved me - then, He would demonstrate his love for me in this: Jessica would not know suffering. 

So, when Dan would repeatedly get sick, and after every single judging trip come home sick and be sick for a week...and doctors just kept saying it was a sinus infection because he "worked in a petri dish"...my trust in God waivered. ...and by waiver, I mean, I put a strong-arm up to keep God from getting too close. I still practiced my faith, still sought him...but at a reasonable distance. 

Why? Why would I do that? ...it was a natural response to fear. 

When we are afraid, we put up a defense. We build a wall. We hunker down. 

...but why were you afraid of God, Jessica? I thought you loved him. 

I thought I did, too. ...but, I think I was more in love with the idea of God than the reality. ...and, I put parameters on God's goodness. 

(and, to be honest, I'd been doing this since I was in college. My response to someone challenging my prayer request for a farmer-husband: 'what if God doesn't want that for you?' "Well, of course, he does - God loves me!" ...eventually, I worked through that one) 

Because I'd worked through one parameter, I thought I was done. I thought I'd entered into the pasture of my rest.

As we neared closer and closer to Dan's diagnosis, the fear was overwhelming. Not only were we about to have breakthrough - we were also moving 2000 miles - "home". The day that we received Dan's official diagnosis, the same day that our house was loaded onto a moving truck, I finally broke. In the car, driving to Dan's appointment (where we were late because of the whole house being packed up, thing), I broke. 

At Mayo, you can't be more than 10 minutes late. If you are, then, you are rescheduled. Well, we couldn't be rescheduled. We were leaving the state - that day - (by original plans) - and it was literally impossible that we would make it anywhere near a 10-minute mark. It would be at least 30. 

We were screwed. At that realization, (while driving), I yelled and remember hitting an empty, plastic water bottle against the steering wheel at the injustice of it all.

But - 

In that moment of sheer anger and fear, I yelled to God that HE ALONE had to fix this. He HAD to do something. This was absolutely impossible for us to remedy. I could do nothing else. Nothing. I could do nothing. I was powerless...He alone was the only one who could open a door - a window - anything. He alone was the only one who could take the wheel, and lead us forward.

take heart! I have overcome the world. 

Miraculously, when Dan called Mayo back (he had already called once when he was told about the ten-minute rule leading to Jessica's breakdown)...they told him that the doctor would see us whenever we arrived. Whenever - we - arrived. Whenever.

(Maybe I should have taken that as a sign things were serious?) 

In that moment, I knew that I had crossed over the threshold. The walls were broken down. The Light had come. God heard my prayer. God saw me. God was not distance. He was here. 

He was really for us. 

That was the moment that my life changed. Yes, I had been walking with God my whole life, really. Yes, at the age of 20, the Holy Spirit "turned on the light" and I knew that Jesus loved me - and I understood what it meant to "be in relationship" with him; to love him meant to live for him. I understood it. I lived it to the best of my ability. ...but, I had only let God in so far. 

There was still so much about him that I didn't understand - but could only be learned through entering more fully into His presence...which meant allowing Him to enter more fully into my heart. To come into the rooms that I didn't really want him to know about; to shine light into the corners. 

Being accepted has always been the deepest cry of my heart, and I was convinced that if Jesus were to really see the depths, there'd be no hope for me.

But, in that moment, I knew: Jesus was is my only hope.

In this world you will have trouble, but take heart! I have overcome the world.  (John 16:33)

It would be absolutely ridiculous at this point to say, "Well, Jessica, there is your reason. Dan got cancer so that you could come closer to Jesus. See? Everything does happen for a reason." What sort of backward world do you live in? What sort of cruel God is this? Who causes cancer just so we can get outside our petty selves for a moment to see the bigger picture? 

No.

Cancer, evil, sickness, disease, death - these are not created by God who because of His nature of goodness can only create what aligns with himself. 

Instead, when we allow God into a situation, He can work those events together for good. (Romans 8:28) 

When we allow God into a situation, He can bring good from it - because He is all Goodness. 

When we allow God into the darkness, He always brings light - because He is Light. When we allow God in, He brings His full nature. 

When God enters into a situation, He redeems it. Because Jesus himself suffered, suffering can be redemptive for us...but, it is dependent upon us. We have been given free will, and we can choose in our moments of suffering, doubt, darkness, temptation, fear, grief - if we are going to allow God to cross the threshold or not. Even when He has entered, it is still entirely dependent upon us whether we show him around the place and let ourselves be seen, known, and accepted as we truly are - or whether we just keep him to the safe spaces.

God will not push you. He will wait in the sitting room for you. He will wait in the alley. He will throw rocks at your window. He will hold a boombox over his shoulders. He will let you rail against him and hit a water bottle on the steering wheel: but when you lift up your tearful eyes, and give him permission to come close - he will. 

While he might be thinking, "what took you so long?" He'll wait to say it until you know that you are loved, cared for, and held. ...and then whisper with a twinkle in his eyes, "I've always been here. I've just been waiting for your, 'yes.'" 

How to get a week off in the middle of the semester (without even trying)

I've enjoyed a restful week-off from work.

Of course, I have spent that week dehydrated, chilled, fevered, with body aches and other things (to be discreet). A week ago at this time, I had my first sign of illness. Three hours later, I was sick again. Two hours later, again. This was on repeat for the next 2 days. Next, bring in the nausea. Then the abdominal pain and cramps.

Monday night, my mom asked if I had a fever. I hadn't thought to check, but I wouldn't be surprised since my body was wracked with chills. I took my temperature on Monday night, and it read 100.1. Ok. I had a fever.

After Monday night repeated Sunday night, I googled "diarrhea + fever." The first thing that came up was salmonella. I remembered my aunt Nancy spending time in the hospital with that. I called my doctor's office and had an appointment at 10:30. After ordering a stool sample (ugh. I die.), she gave me a prescription for salmonella - Ciproflaxicin. (or something like that)

I seem to remember hearing about that drug being in a class of drugs with nasty side effects. I google it. Sure enough, this is in a class of drugs (one which Dan took when he had pneumonia) that can cause spontaneous tendon rupture. in the Achilles tendon. I already have some tendinitis in my Achilles, so...I think I'll hold off on that till I get a positive test result.

By Wednesday morning, I'm starting to feel just a bit better. I take a shower - but have to sit down 3 times as I nearly black-out. But my whole back aches, my neck hurts. I'm finally able to check email. I spend the afternoon sitting in the sun, and that seemed to help.

Thursday, I'm feeling better enough to think that I should probably go teach my class. I get to work and feel a bit of a tightness in my chest. I walk to my classroom - on the far end of Engineering (which is connected to Anthony), and I can barely make it. I realize I've got to shorten the day back. I do not have the strength. (However, I end up spending the whole day at the office trying to finish up all those nagging to do's - like write 2 vet school recommendation letters and read through some VMCAS essays). While in the office, I get a phone call.

It's the Ingham County Public Health Nurse. I've tested positive for cryptosporidium. I spend the next 45 minutes learning just what in the world cryptosporidium is. Then, I have to recount all the places I have shopped for groceries, purchased food, eaten food in the last 2 weeks. For the restaurants, I have to remember what I ordered. For the 3 days prior to Sunday, I have to recount what I ate for each meal. I learn that I need at least a 48-hours "incident free" before I return to work. Oops.

So. Cryptosporidium is a parasite/protozoa that happens to be resistant to bleach...and can be quite a little nasty bugger. I'll let you do your own research about it. Turns out 98% of cases go unreported...so it's quite easy to get sick with it when people don't know they're sick!

Remember that antibiotic I was prescribed? Well, it doesn't touch crypto - so, good thing I didn't start taking it. ...even when the medical assistant at the doctor's office tried to cajole me into taking it after the crypto test came back positive. Thank God I have a brain.


Each day, I continue to feel more improvements. I still have yet to get 24-hours d-free, let alone 48.
Let me tell you, I have been learning A LOT in my down time about rest, God, my own abilities...and the writing part of me has been back in action. It's amazing what a lack of food in your body does for clarity! ;)

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.

Ireland, Day 2: Cliffs of Moher, Burren, and Limerick

Today, we went north of Limerick, first to the Cliffs of Moher and then on a walk in the Burren. The Cliffs are part of the Burren, a protected Arctic landscape. The views were astounding. The Cliffs are 700 feet high, rising out of the Atlantic Ocean and stretching on for 5 miles. We were absolutely gifted with gorgeous clear weather and a high of 75! Literally - once in a lifetime views!

Irish cows grazing RIGHT NEXT to the path, which was right on the edge of the Cliffs. (They were fenced in)

Cow selfie! (can you tell I work for an Animal Science department? I was SO excited to take a cow selfie)

The gorgeous stone fence along the path.

Irish cows are happy cows. How could you not be with this view - and that delicious lime-rich soil?

As we drove along western Ireland, I was really struck by how much the views reminded me of home (southwest Iowa). Rolling hills, rural landscape, the various shades of green and gold...beautiful.

This area of Ireland, County Clare, is home to traditional Irish music. I made a note in my journal that the little fishing village of Doolen has pubs that ALWAYS play traditional Irish music. That day, we were treated to our first Nigel serenade: a traditional Irish song (in Gaelic) about the county fair. (How appropriate as my family at home were gearing up for the fair!)

[Now an interjection for my deep thought of the day]

Why are the Irish [songs] so melancholy?
Such sadness in their music, but their countenance so jovial?

 They know.

"Suffer in this life, Pamela; so you won't have to suffer in the next!" (Pamela's Irish grandmother) 

They let themselves be pierced by life - but,
have found their God in that sorrow,
and that joy effuses out.
...and when they don't, they find solace in drink and song -
and when they do, they remember through song and drink.
Life is short. Enjoy what you can. Find joy where you can.

The Burren: geographical, geological, biological, agricultural, historical natural wonder. Our guide here, Tony, was phenomenal. He was a true Irishmen - poet, scholar, soulful, humorous, serious. To have spent more time with him exploring the land - and we still would just be scraping the surface. Nigel kept referring to this as a "cursed" landscape, which I thought meant very little could grow here. However, upon doing a little research, I discovered the word is karst. I hope you'll forgive me; with the brogue, it's very easy to see the confusion. :)

The limestone bedrock - no topsoil here.

Look! I found Michigan in Ireland!

Our group enraptured by Tony's tales

A side wall of a stone famine house in the Burren. Can you imagine trying to grow anything on that landscape?

The two side walls of the famine house. Can you picture an entire family living in a house that small?

 It was fascinating to listen to Tony speak of the famine. Many of us (Americans) are somewhat familiar with the story because we have familial ties to Ireland. But, there was so much more at work than just "the potato crop went bad 3 years in a row." These little famine houses held an entire family. They burned peat "logs" to keep warm; smoky, hazy fires - and they kept those fires burning through the night. The ventilation was poor; they were limited to the foods they could grow for themselves; they were charged outrageous rents and had to sell nearly everything they grew to stay on the land; their health was poor; they were poor. ...and yet, the more they were crushed, the more they increased and spread.

[connection from the daily Mass readings of the Israelites in Egypt to our pilgrimage] It is fascinating to me - to think of the effect oppression has on the oppressed group: just in terms of numbers. The Israelites grew more numerous than could be counted while in Egypt. The Irish, while oppressed under British rule, numbered 8 million at the time of the famine.

That night, we were on our own in Limerick city. My new friends: Lisa, Clare and Sarah (the mother-daughter duo from IOWA), Emily & Kevin (and their exchange daughter from Spain) and Glen went out for dinner at a pub on the river. While there, we spotted Milton - a man pulled from the audience during our castle dinner. ...and like I would do, at one point later in the evening, happened to yell, "Milton!" and then we just waved. and laughed awkwardly...and then watched him walk outside to his friends and tell them that he was just spotted by people from last night's dinner.

So it is with Jessica.

Musicians - not Milton. I'm not that creepy.

Remember that adorable little half-pint picture from Day 1?

Well, my new friend Clare kept telling me ALL DAY that a half-pint is actually called a "Lady's Pint." Well, now of course I want to be thought of as a lady, and as culturally appropriate, so later in the evening, I went to the bar to order a "Lady's Pint" of Smithwicks Red.

No sooner had the words come out of my mouth then the bartender said, "That's sexist."

Beg pardon? Still trying to win some adorable points, I said, "No...that's sexy."

"NO, that's sexist - because in Ireland, women drink a real f---in' pint."



*hangs head in shame; places tail between legs*  "oh."

Then Clare told him that he hurt my feelings - and he said, "To be a real Irish woman, you're going to have to get thicker skin."

*knife turns. salt pours into wound.*


Now, for a Limerick:

On a Monday night in Limerick,
I encountered a bartender - a bit of prick.
"It's sexist," they say,
"to order a Lady's Pint." Touche.
To be Irish, my skin must grow thick.

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: 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

Redeeming Death, the prequel

I posted a weekish ago, how Dan's death has shaped...reshaped my understanding about death. Realizing that this past week, 7 years ago, my grandpa passed away caused me to recognize that his death was the precursor. 

C.S. Lewis, in A Grief Observed, states that grief causes you to really look at what you believe. His analogy is that anyone can state that a rope is sturdy, functioning, and trustworthy. But until that rope is the only thing keeping you from plunging to your death, you don't actually have faith in the rope. 

Until now, I didn't realize how Grandpa's death affected me. 

My Grandpa Joe is one of my heroes. I loved him. I idolized him. I viewed him as...untouchable, sainted, perfect. I tend toward the idealization - and that is definitely how I viewed him. My grandpa lived with failed kidneys for three years. 3 YEARS. I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand how - why - God allowed him to suffer for three years, for his body to just slowly fail...for his (my grandpa's) desire to not be burden to anyone become dependent on everyone. 

It wasn't fair. 

And because it wasn't fair, it certainly didn't seem merciful...or in the very least, loving. 

...and I think that is where I started to question just how loving God really was. I just didn't get it. I couldn't reconcile it. 

...and because I didn't really trust the love of God, I just couldn't imagine how heaven could be better than earth. Maybe it was the start of me trusting what I could see more than faith, or maybe I was just now becoming aware of the rope, the invitation to swing out off the canyon, and how much more I preferred my feet on the ground, but with the rope tied around me, just in case.

Yes, that's it. I didn't doubt the existence of God. I just doubted his goodness. 

[and let me just say that when you doubt his goodness, it makes it really, really hard to love him. he becomes hard to approach because all you want to is his love, but you are so scared that his love is not good - that instead of mercy, you'll get chastisement and condemnation)

Who would think that through the trial of my husband's cancer diagnosis and his subsequent death that I would more firmly, more tangibly, more deeply experience, believe, and trust God's goodness? Yet, that is what has happened. 

This is why I share my story. Death effects each of us in unique ways. I had no idea that Grandpa's death resonated with me in that way until I thought about it this week. That was 7 years ago. If you read what I wrote/spoke at his funeral, what I continued to write after, I still said all the right things about faith and dying, our hope being Jesus. But, my heart had a barrier to trusting the rope-bridge Jesus. When the time came, I'd be ready - but I was not looking forward to that time, and I was secretly hoping that time would never come. I would rather trust in myself. 

Just as many people loved Grandpa Joe, many people loved Dan. When we love our people, and we like God, it can be very hard to comprehend death. Like so many themes in life, "He gives us more grace," and we are invited to continue standing on the cliff with a rope tied around our waist, but trusting the firm foundation beneath our feet - or we can grab hold of the rope, jump, swing out from cliff and swim in the deep waters of goodness and love. 

He gives us more grace.

He is faithful, always near - always providing the lesson, the teacher - always gently knocking.

He gives us more grace.

What healing looks like: the heart of suffering

Reading 7  EZEKIEL 36:16-17A, 18-28

The word of the LORD came to me, saying:
Son of man, when the house of Israel lived in their land,
they defiled it by their conduct and deeds.

Therefore I poured out my fury upon them
because of the blood that they poured out on the ground,
and because they defiled it with idols.
I scattered them among the nations,
dispersing them over foreign lands;
according to their conduct and deeds I judged them.

But when they came among the nations wherever they came,
they served to profane my holy name,
because it was said of them: "These are the people of the LORD,
yet they had to leave their land."

So I have relented because of my holy name
which the house of Israel profaned
among the nations where they came.

Therefore say to the house of Israel: Thus says the Lord GOD:
Not for your sakes do I act, house of Israel,
but for the sake of my holy name,
which you profaned among the nations to which you came.

I will prove the holiness of my great name, profaned among the nations,
in whose midst you have profaned it.
Thus the nations shall know that I am the LORD, says the Lord GOD,
when in their sight I prove my holiness through you.

For I will take you away from among the nations,
gather you from all the foreign lands,
and bring you back to your own land.

I will sprinkle clean water upon you
to cleanse you from all your impurities,
and from all your idols I will cleanse you.

I will give you a new heart and place a new spirit within you,
taking from your bodies your stony hearts
and giving you natural hearts.

I will put my spirit within you and make you live by my statutes,
careful to observe my decrees.

You shall live in the land I gave your fathers;
you shall be my people, and I will be your God.

It is amazing sometimes how God brings our lives full-circle. (And maybe it shouldn’t be amazing – because I think that is his intention with many things – but still, whenever I am given the eyes to see it, I am amazed.)

On my drive back from Thanksgiving in Iowa, I had a pretty interesting encounter with God. Since Dan died, I’ve had some questions for God about suffering. If you’ve followed me for awhile, you know how resistant I have been to suffering. Prior to Dan’s diagnosis, I equated suffering with falling out of God’s favor; during the year of cancer, I *kind of* learned to embrace it, but still with an idea that to avoid it or to be released from “the worst” was better than to endure “the full extent” – or to realize the “worst.” …and then, what I would say was the worst outcome possible happened – and when that happens, you start to look at suffering with new eyes.

While listening to ‘Rose of Bethlehem’ by Selah, meditating on the life of Mary and Jesus, I was brought to ears and clearly realized that our suffering is intended to bring about healing.

O Rose of Bethlehem, how lovely pure and sweet, born to glorify the Father, born to wear the thorns for me.

As I meditated on this song, this image of a heart crowned in thorns came to me. Our suffering purifies our heart; purifies our faith which is stronger than gold. But, we cannot wear the thorns of suffering without a heart of flesh.

Mary's "yes" to receive the Holy Spirit and become the mother of Jesus was a "yes" to a life of suffering. Jesus' "yes" to submitting to the flesh of humanity, a rejection of the majesty due him, - but then, the final submission to suffering, the "yes" to wearing the thorn of crowns, drinking the cup of suffering and death through the crucifixion: Experiencing the suffering of life is an invitation to receive the heart of flesh; embracing the crown of thorns is to welcome the heart of flesh (the natural heart Ezekiel refers to).

What I have found is that we always have a choice. To embrace suffering or the path of grief is to embrace our cross: which is a rejection of the stony heart and an embrace of the natural one.

This past weekend at Easter Vigil, I read the above passage from Ezekiel. Easter Vigil may be my favorite church service. It’s the entire salvation story presented in one Mass. Starting with the creation story (Genesis 1:1-2:2), the Lord providing the sacrificial lamb Genesis 22:1-18), delivering his chosen people from the Egyptians (Exodus 14:15-15:1), the calling and provision for the chosen people (Isaiah 54:5-14 and Isaiah 55:1-11), the rejection of the Lord by the chosen people and His wooing of them to return (Baruch 3:9-15, 32-4:4): and finally this – God declares his justification to judge his people because of their sin, but instead chooses to relent. While justice deems banishment justified, the Lord demonstrates mercy – and grace -  for His name’s sake determining that not only will He gather His people, bringing them home – He, himself – the Lord God -  will cleanse them of their sin and will give them a new heart and spirit – so that they will be able to glorify God, do His will – and be a sign to the nations that these are the people loved by God. Thus, it is not by works, but by grace through faith that we are saved; the Lord God will be the one to cleanse and to enliven our bodies and souls to perform the good works designed for us. (Ephesians 2:8-10)

I couldn’t get through this reading without crying. The beautiful privilege to be the people of God – we deserve it not. We have reviled him, rejected him, and soiled his name by what we have done and what we have failed to do. Yet, he doesn’t judge us as our sins deserve. He has determine to give us a new heart and a new spirit – and this gift could only come to us through suffering: the suffering of Jesus on the cross and his subsequent death. His resurrection allowed life to come to us: a new heart and a new spirit: His spirit.

Epistle  ROMANS 6:3-11

Brothers and sisters:
Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus
were baptized into his death?
We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death,
so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead
by the glory of the Father,
we too might live in newness of life.
For if we have grown into union with him through a death like his,
we shall also be united with him in the resurrection.
We know that our old self was crucified with him,
so that our sinful body might be done away with,
that we might no longer be in slavery to sin.
For a dead person has been absolved from sin.
If, then, we have died with Christ,
we believe that we shall also live with him.
We know that Christ, raised from the dead, dies no more;
death no longer has power over him.
As to his death, he died to sin once and for all;
as to his life, he lives for God.
Consequently, you too must think of yourselves as being dead to sin
and living for God in Christ Jesus.