His Eye Is On The Sparrow

I've made it through the first month after Glenda's passing.  I was dreading October 21st, which would have been one month to the day of her death.  I don't know if it was planned, or if it was the Lord orchestrating it, but my Pastor called and asked if I would mind going with him to Russellville, Arkansas to help him replace the alternator in his son's car. I gladly accepted because I was dreading being alone.  I'd thought about going to Little Rock Air Force Base for their annual air show that day, but it was just a little bit too much, too soon.  

I'm not going to claim to have this grieving thing down pat.  Unplanned moments are the worst. Yesterday morning I met with one of the young men from our church at our local diner downtown.  As I was waiting for him to show up, Lee Anne Rimes' song, "How Can I Live Without You?" was playing, and I lost it.  It's moments like that that give me the hardest time.  It was one of Glenda's favorite songs, made even more poignant after she passed. I wouldn't have given myself a snowball's chance in hell of making it past this month, but somehow I have.  

Everyone around me is trying so hard to make me feel better, but the usual platitudes just aren't working.  "Just give it time, it'll get better," or "She's in a better place,"  or "At least she's not suffering,"  just doesn't help.  I thought I would do better at the grieving thing.  Then again why should I?  She was my life and breath, and now she's gone. My love for her didn't diminish with age. We both put a ton of effort into making our marriage work despite our failures.  We were married for over 48 years, and I was hoping for at least fifty.  Just a year ago she was remarking about how well we were doing for our age. It's amazing how a year can make such a difference.

This last month has shown me how unprepared I was for all of the mess of losing my lifelong mate.  Some of my decisions have surprised family and friends alike.  The real stingers were when my kids would say stuff like, "Mom wouldn't have done that," or "Mom would do this," as if I was violating her memory somehow.  Little do they know that "Mom" was not an alone kind of thing.  We were both "mom" in so many ways.  Glenda was the 'idea' person, and I was the bankroll or builder. That's the hard part of being a widower, just trying to make people understand that what was awesome about the departed spouse was a together thing, and part of it is missing.  The worst part is, that I feel as if the better part of me is gone. I never wanted to be alone. I wanted us to die together like some sad movie. Now, I don't go a day without thinking of her and some of the wonderful moments we had together.  My children have all returned to their homes and lives, but they don't have to go to bed alone without their lifelong mate beside them.  So, what does this mean moving forward?  I don't know, I just know that I miss her something terrible.

I do know that the Bible says that his eye is on the sparrow, and he knows when one falls to the ground.  Then Jesus says, "Are you not more valuable than a whole flock of sparrows?"  However, I do know I will find my way through this grief.  In many ways I'm looking forward now instead of backwards, which helps. I haven't lost faith with God, but I sure miss Glenda.  I'm told that sparrows mate for life, and there isn't anyone I'd like to replace her.  I'm sure I'll eventually find peace in being alone, but I hate that I feel that way.  I enjoyed being 'David and Glenda'.  At least my precious, fetching bride, of 48 years will always be in my heart.  If God's eye is on the sparrow, then surely I'll make my way through this time of mourning with my dignity intact.