Grieving is a process

Let’s have a moment of prayer for them, shall we? You know, the ones who apparently forgot how to be supportive when I was drowning in grief. When they prayed for me, tears came down my face like I was Niagara Falls on a bad day. My cheeks were on fire, my eyeballs felt like they were trying to explode, and my brain? Oh, it threw in some lightning strikes for dramatic effect.

The kicker? I hadn’t even cried for my husband until that moment—strangers praying for me opened the floodgates. Earlier that day, his cousin showed up and shared some Hallmark-worthy memories about how my husband had been a saint to him since childhood. The guy cried. I just sat there thinking, “Oh really?” That same day, I bumped into a colleague who kept telling me how much he pitied me and how strong I was. Great pep talk, right?

But here’s the kicker: while everyone was painting my husband as the second coming of kindness, I had what I like to call “ear-death experiences” with him. Yeah, you heard that right—our interactions were less ‘butterflies and rainbows’ and more ‘danger zone.’ It wasn’t that my expectations were unrealistic either. Nope, they were perfectly reasonable.

And then I felt it—the Holy Spirit reminding me, “You are not alone. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.” Sure, he treated his cousin like royalty, but not me. And guess what? I forgave him anyway. God’s been my rock, keeping me strong, and I’m not falling for the enemy’s guilt trips or mind games. Nope, not today, Satan!

Oh, and by the way, I missed my nine chapters of Bible reading yesterday, but today, thanks to the grace of God, I smashed through 20 chapters. Take that, guilt!