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As the fifth September since Josh’s passing looms closer, it seems this year I am even more emotional. There are probably many factors to the feelings, starting with my friend Scott who once shared an office with Josh. He and his family are relocating to the Ozarks and he will be working at my church with me. I have not seen him in about five years and when he entered my new scene, he tossed out Josh and Jenn so casually that it caught me off guard. People in my new work world don’t lump us together in the same way because they never experienced “us” in the same way. From day 1 it was just Jenn.
That seemed to start the spark of the string of funny feelings leading into this 5 year marker. Around the same time, I decided to train to be a facilitator for a new grief group - which led to more talking about Josh in new spaces in new ways. Sitting in room of people who are freshly experiencing the grief is also heavy. I explain all this as the root of a math equation in some way. Maybe all of this adds up to the reason for my complete crying meltdown as I was practicing my guitar on a Saturday afternoon. Singing a song that had the words “Me and Jim” I subbed in my mind, me and Josh, and the tears began to fall - soon I was in a whole mess of a crying situation, trying to snuggle with my dog for comfort. Just when I think, it’s been 5 years, I’m doing ok, a day/moment like this hits. And I realize I am not so good. My heart still hurts something fierce. I miss Josh so much. As much as I want to love again, I wonder can I really. Is there room in my heart for another, really? Maybe it’s already too full of love, doubt, fear and sorrow? These could-be song lyrics cross my mind, “No matter what I try I can’t get over you by my side. I just want you here.” Some might say the more you hurt shows how deeply you loved. That’s tricky in many ways thinking of the future. The words aren’t really a comfort. It just makes me dive deeper in to self analzying. I do admit, this is a real and raw piece of writing, that maybe is too personal to share but grief is real and raw and very personal. So many times, we don’t talk about it. It’s easier to not tell anyone about our secret, at-home, (or in the car) meltdown moments but they happen. (Feel free to give yourself permission for them). So I share it to remind anyone else that they are not alone in their tears, or even in the feeling of “Am I crazy?” Should I STILL be crying like this? There is no right or wrong way to grieve. As someone shared in the grief group this week, as long as you are not hurting anyone (that includes yourself …e.g. destructive behavior) you can process the emotions as needed - for however long. A good cry for no reason is definitely ok. I say this to myself also for reassurance…as I am definitely feeling a bit weird about it all. I'll be a little less weird feeling in a day or two but who knows what next moment might catch me.
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I don’t want to talk about you in past tense yet it seems I must  I recently attended a training to be a grief facilitator with a local organization that serves people walking in grief. After two nights of learning how to best support and facilitate a group, we did a "practice session." This group included a wide array of grief experiences, loss of spouses, children, parents and close friends. The timeline of grief extended from one year to 17, at least. The time was beautiful and hard. It is emotional to participate in a group collectively and openly talking about love and death (and crying!).
There was a point where I shared about Josh and I found within my own story that so much of it had an element of “was” and “were.” We were married 17 years, it was a hard time, our love was beautiful. He was my guy. While I know this love deeply resides within me each day there is still an element of past tense that I can’t deny my current reality. I wonder things like, "Do I say, He was my husband?” He is not still in the practical sense. Within the group conversation this concept came up, as it has before with friends and family. A parent simply stated, “He is still my son”. In talking with my sister-in-law she shared she says, "I have two brothers, one who has died." The fact is we can’t just erase these people from existence – even through sometimes it might seem easier in some conversations for fear of an emotional trigger. It is complicated to talk about someone who has died. It’s also harder to say died than passed away, no longer with us, in a better place, lost, etc - those words might take a long time to work out of our minds and hearts even. They may never feel right. For me, this week brought a new layer of grief discussion and processing. Still, the opening line of this post keeps sticking in my mind. Part of me still wants to have a small tantrum like a toddler, stomping my feet and saying, “I don’t want to.” I don't want to talk in past tense, I want you here now. Is there a solution? Not completely, but what I can do is actively love my dearly departed people with the same depth as before. Love is ever present. It is timeless. It does conquer all. I can easily get caught in the grammatical mystery of how to describe my specific reality. I can spend hours wondering which words to use. I can also take a deep breath and simply say a word of gratitude to the God of mysteries. “Thank you for letting me love him,” - there's no tense in this. This same sentiment carries over to many others in my life as well but maybe this week especially it’s for Josh, my dearly departed husband, whom I love. |
Author: JennHi! It's Jenn Brown, writing my story that is now slightly different as we enter a season of new grief. On September 30, 2019, my dear husband Josh passed away after battling brain cancer. Archives
March 2025
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