Many days in the past year--actually in my past lifetime--I have longed to be my dear friend Janie. She's a wonderful cook, pastry artist extraordinaire, inviting hostess, exceptional volunteer, devoted mother and daughter-in-law, and a loyal friend. For the past three hundred and sixty-five days, she has been a widow.
I still want to be her.
You see, Janie experienced in her relatively brief married life what I used to dream of and wish for on bright West Texas starry nights. Freakishly and ever so melodramatically, I would look up in the sky and just know that somewhere my soul mate was doing the same thing--waiting for me to spend a lifetime of traveling, raising children, laughing, playing golf, and cherishing the dreamer I am. On family road trips, I wanted to sit by the window and imagine that one day my soul mate and I would make similar road trips, soaking in the Grand Tetons and the Grand Canyon or doing that sappy walk-along-the-beach thing...into the sunset, of course.
Janie lived my dream. She and her husband Mark, a childhood friend of mine, captured all of those moments even before he became sick. It was as if Dr. Seuss's book Oh the Places You'll Go was based on their lives. And not that they had to go anywhere to enjoy what life had to offer: they found it at home, at church, at hometown football games. Best of all, they found "it" in each other.
Mark's diagnosis and final journey home were but ten and half months apart. Together he and Janie and their two children kept living. Their actions in those months were not desperate attempts to fill in gaps or accomplish a bucket list or even to ensure a legacy. Mark and Janie and their children lived their family's legacy while it was happening....all along the way. All along the way....during the healthy years and the wonder years, this family demonstrated their appreciation for the miracle that is love.
Three hundred and sixty-five days later, Janie's heart is still broken. She misses her husband with an ache that she doesn't want to go away anytime soon. She lives in the house they shared with the pets and the plants and the photos and the memories that are no more replaceable than Mark is himself. It is not a tortured life, though, as Janie knows better than anyone that she was blessed immeasurably to experience life with this keeper of a man. She is blessed today to see her children honor their father's memory by growing stronger in their faith. Her days are touched by the lives of numerous friends--and some new angels--who shelter her heart and wrap their comforting arms around her. Most significantly, Janie has seen in herself what the rest of us knew was there all along: a strong, confident woman whose spirit's talents are breaking through the surface to blossom in ways she had never imagined. Just ask the young mothers who are in her Bible school class.
Heartache--whether from love unfulfilled or love lost--is a constant in our earthly lives. Each one of the past three hundred and sixty five days has included a tear for Janie, but each morning has also begun with an assurance that love's labor is not lost: Janie knows where her soul mate is. And, on any given starry West Texas night, she knows exactly where to look for him.
I still want to be her.
You see, Janie experienced in her relatively brief married life what I used to dream of and wish for on bright West Texas starry nights. Freakishly and ever so melodramatically, I would look up in the sky and just know that somewhere my soul mate was doing the same thing--waiting for me to spend a lifetime of traveling, raising children, laughing, playing golf, and cherishing the dreamer I am. On family road trips, I wanted to sit by the window and imagine that one day my soul mate and I would make similar road trips, soaking in the Grand Tetons and the Grand Canyon or doing that sappy walk-along-the-beach thing...into the sunset, of course.
Janie lived my dream. She and her husband Mark, a childhood friend of mine, captured all of those moments even before he became sick. It was as if Dr. Seuss's book Oh the Places You'll Go was based on their lives. And not that they had to go anywhere to enjoy what life had to offer: they found it at home, at church, at hometown football games. Best of all, they found "it" in each other.
Mark's diagnosis and final journey home were but ten and half months apart. Together he and Janie and their two children kept living. Their actions in those months were not desperate attempts to fill in gaps or accomplish a bucket list or even to ensure a legacy. Mark and Janie and their children lived their family's legacy while it was happening....all along the way. All along the way....during the healthy years and the wonder years, this family demonstrated their appreciation for the miracle that is love.
Three hundred and sixty-five days later, Janie's heart is still broken. She misses her husband with an ache that she doesn't want to go away anytime soon. She lives in the house they shared with the pets and the plants and the photos and the memories that are no more replaceable than Mark is himself. It is not a tortured life, though, as Janie knows better than anyone that she was blessed immeasurably to experience life with this keeper of a man. She is blessed today to see her children honor their father's memory by growing stronger in their faith. Her days are touched by the lives of numerous friends--and some new angels--who shelter her heart and wrap their comforting arms around her. Most significantly, Janie has seen in herself what the rest of us knew was there all along: a strong, confident woman whose spirit's talents are breaking through the surface to blossom in ways she had never imagined. Just ask the young mothers who are in her Bible school class.
Heartache--whether from love unfulfilled or love lost--is a constant in our earthly lives. Each one of the past three hundred and sixty five days has included a tear for Janie, but each morning has also begun with an assurance that love's labor is not lost: Janie knows where her soul mate is. And, on any given starry West Texas night, she knows exactly where to look for him.
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