Wow.  I just thought I was doing pretty good.  All it took was one minute, rummaging through Mark’s closet, looking for suitcases.  And I was transported once again to the raw, emotional, stifling grief that swallowed me up on July 30th.  Clothes hanging, shoes scattered on the closet floor—tennis shoes, work boots, hunting boots, umpire cleats—all unnecessary now.  A multitude of TPWD shirts, sweatshirts, work shirts.  More Kansas State apparel than we can ever hope to wear, even if the boys grow into them.  Jeans…”dress” ones, work ones, ones designated for hunting only (those are well-worn, with various holes).  Dress clothes and shoes, suits, ties, belts….he looked so handsome in everything!  Meticulously labelled boxes of baseball and football cards.  A microcosm of my man’s existence, right down to the warm robe hanging on the inside hook.

But I had to go in there.  We store suitcases in his closet, because there is no room for such bulk in mine.  Mine is full of clothes, shoes, boots, accessories.  All that I enjoyed wearing.  Now, not so much.  They, like the house full of material items in my home, are just “stuff” to me now.  Losing Mark, seeing all the “stuff” he left behind, has given me a new sense of what’s important, and it’s not the latest sale at JC Penney’s or the mall.  In an instant, you can be gone.  That’s what happened to him.  This wonderful, warm force of nature was taken up to be with God in heaven, and our boys & I are now walking without him leading our family.

The Thanksgiving trip looms ahead, and I am filled with a strange combination of dread, hopefulness, love, anticipation, and fear of the unknown.  Dear Lord, it’s a good thing you love me as I am, because today, I am one heck of a mess.  Dragging out the suitcases, printing off our packing list from the computer (yes, he made a list, so we wouldn’t forget anything important), and trying to figure out what clothes we need to take are overwhelming me. 

And just as I think I can’t do one more thing, I cry out and fall to my knees in my den.  God, please help me.  I know that you are carrying us, but today I think I need an extra squeeze! Immediately, I remember my devotional book, the one given to me by Mark’s angel in the hospital.  I turn back to November 16th, and read it aloud once again: