Nineteen Days...and counting

Nineteen days ago, my 50 year old husband died. He should be alive today. He should be making plans to come home for Thanksgiving. He should not be in the ground, covered with sprays of flowers that are decaying above as he does below.  He should be here with me, with our daughter, with our pets.  I should be angry that his jeans are starting to pile up in the corner and at his inside out socks strewn across the floor. I should be irritated at his snoring while I struggle to hear the vapid conversation of the two characters on the latest Hallmark Christmas movie.  He shouldn't be. He should be. We should be. I shouldn't be. I just want to scream "what the HELL happened to my life?"  

Welcome to my new/old blog. So far it must be a cheerful respite in your Internet scroll.  I apologize in advance - far in advance, because I do not see this rant ending any time soon.

I used to blog. One thousand years ago. It was a sweet time in my life. I was a new mom, in love with my husband and our sweet little life together.  I was quite literally "happy in the moment".  My worries were few, my troubles faded quickly and though there were of course highs and lows ... life was good. Life was, dare I say, Great!  I blogged faithfully, good days and bad, charting my child's cute milestones for all to enjoy. I blogged about fun things that happened at work, make-up, food, current events. I splayed my happy moments out for all to see. It fulfilled me --- I loved sharing. Until I didn't.

My last post was about my mom and her unexpected death. It was too painful to enter this blog after that day. I was raw, cut and bleeding and scrambling to make sense of such an enormous loss. My mom loved to read my blog posts...I had no choice but to close up my little "happy corner of the blogsphere."

Did I mention that nineteen days ago my husband died?  Truth needs to be told here so I will be able splay myself open for all to see and hope for some good to come of this mess that is now my "new" normal. My husband, 50 years old, made the devastating decision to end his life by suicide.

That is his story to tell. I am here to tell mine. To climb through the clutter and make a new life for myself. To wallow and cry and moan and groan and hopefully show you how I grab hold of the feet of Jesus. How He is dragging me from the rubble of my former life to the new life I know He is already preparing for me.

Thanks for coming on this journey with me. I believe that in the by and by, we can all be "happy in the moment" once again.

~Beverly