red balloons

Welcome back- it’s been awhile. I WAY overestimated the amount of time I would have to sit down and write once school and other extracurriculars started again. I know that may sound like an excuse to some but if I explained how many places I am scheduled to be at the same exact moment almost every day of the week, I hope you would understand. I am not one who buys into the culture of being “busy” as a badge of honor- I would absolutely LOVE to not have this excuse. (Also- I don’t want to go into details of the fairly unhealthy lifestyle I lead where I don’t drink the recommended amount of water each day because who has time to go to the bathroom after drinking all that water?? Not me… there are days where 10 p.m. hits and I cannot remember ever visiting the bathroom since waking up in the morning- this is the season of life I’m in now and I keep telling myself I’ll have more time to pee in the future, right? I know that’s not healthy- I’m working on it.) 

I’m heading to the beach with the kids next weekend for a short Labor Day vacation and I hope to spend some serious time writing while I’m there- it’s much easier for me to focus on it in that environment when I don’t have dirty dishes calling me from the sink, two baskets of laundry next to me that need to be folded, a lawn that needs to be mowed and groceries that need to be bought. This morning I moved the laundry baskets to another room, made my coffee, lit a candle and will do my best to ignore the rest. 

But also- to be honest- the last month has been a struggle. Summer was busy. Although I had a few stretches of time where I did not have kids, even those days were filled with activities I wanted to do for myself with people that I wanted to spend time with. Even as I enjoyed every moment as much as I could, trying to live life to the fullest, I felt myself getting more and more overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted. 

And as I got more and more overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted, it was so much easier to let the enemy’s voice takeover and tell me that no one needed to hear anything I had to say. I had some difficult days where I heeded that voice, but while scrolling through social media, I started seeing the same phrases over and over, “Be still.” “Rest.” “Come to me, all you who are weary…(Matthew 11:28)” And so, I had to step away from this story for a little while, give myself some grace for all the things I had to lay down and ignore for a bit, and focus on my own breathing (literally on a few occasions- anxiety is a real beast). 

I started taking one day a week, whether kids were home or not, to just rest. On these days, I was thankful that the kids are self-sufficient enough to pour cereal and milk, make sandwiches or ramen noodles and that we live in the age where almost any restaurant has delivery options. I binge-watched a few really good shows and spent time with the kids catching up on all things Marvel Universe-related. I cleaned out and organized a few areas of the house that were in desperate need of it and made lots of lists about how to organize the other areas of life that felt out of control. This may not seem like “rest”ing or “be still”ing to some, but the sense of peace it brought to my mind to know that there was some order in the chaos was important. 

I also had a major accomplishment in that I read my first book since Todd died. No one tells you that about grief- or maybe they do, but until you experience it yourself, you cannot fully understand it- but it changes absolutely EVERYTHING. For me, as someone who has books overflowing from every available surface of my home and who spent a lot of time reading most weekends while Todd was out riding or while we were relaxing at a campground, I was surprised to be absolutely unable to read a book following his death. I read plenty of articles about grief, about how to try to find fulfillment in life again as a widow and about how to help kids cope with loss- but when it came to opening up a fictional book with fictional characters and a storyline, I could not do it. 

This honestly made me pretty angry for a while- there was enough heartbreak from my actual loss. Why did I also need to lose the things that I used to enjoy, and the things that I felt made me who I was, too? But as I attempted to get lost in a storyline, I would find myself just irritated with the character development or angry with the story itself and would have to put the book down. So when I picked up a novel and found myself so invested that I was getting into bed early enough to read a few chapters, waking up at 2 a.m. with glasses on my face, light still on, and book open next to me, it felt like I got a big piece of myself back.  

While I struggled to rest and be still, I also struggled to ignore the strong urge to completely shut out the rest of the world. As I was listening to the voice that was saying no one needed to hear anything I had to say, I was also having lengthy internal dialog about whether I really NEEDED to be around other people. I had been handling all of the demands from all the kids, work, the house and the animals for the past 16 months. What would be the harm in continuing to take that entire burden on all by myself? Why not isolate and just enjoy the moments I was around others when I absolutely had to be there (read: work obligations, school obligations, sporting events, theater performances), but otherwise handle life by myself? 

And this is where God answered with a resounding “Stop it. Get over yourself. Connect.” message. 

When I was going through the difficult days of my divorce, church was my refuge. I attended Sunday services every week without fail, and I was immediately connected to a Divorce Care support group, which was instrumental in my healing from that loss. I went on to facilitate the group for four years- right up until the day I lost Todd. I am still connected to so many of the ladies I met in the group- they are still such a big part of my heart and serve as incredible examples of how to overcome major loss and continue to be a beautiful person. I also had the support of the Busy Moms’ Bible Study group, which is again a whole other post- the love and support given each week in that group got me through so many difficult days. If I was struggling, I was at the church, connecting with the people, no less than three times each week.

Following Todd’s death, the one place where I hoped to find refuge was the one place where I could not. I did try to attend Sunday services a few times. But the moment I stepped into the sanctuary, all I could see was the seat he was always in. I would relive the moments we connected after the service was over and how much I would tease him for being on his phone during the sermon. All I could hear during the service itself were the conversations we used to have about the sermon on the drive home each Sunday, or his comments about the incredible talent providing music for the service, and it drove home the point that we would never have those conversations again. He would never be in that seat again, texting during the sermon. Unfortunately, as much as I loved the people and the community I had at the church, it became a place that I needed to emotionally recover from after a visit and a boundary I had to set for myself to protect my emotional well being. 

So for the past 16 months, I had been taking advantage of this post-COVID world where most churches are streaming services on Sunday mornings. But I felt strongly that I needed to start going back to a building and back to in-person worship, if not for me, then at least to get the kids back into a place where they could build relationships and receive support from friends at church. Because I have some serious social anxiety, there is absolutely nothing about walking into a brand new church, alone (even with four kids in tow- it feels like ALONE), that I was looking forward to. I spoke to a few friends at the beginning of summer about starting a “Bring Jill to church” campaign where they would actually physically be in my driveway to pick me up and bring me with them to church- but due to vacations and lacrosse tournaments and the general busy-ness of my life, it never really came to fruition. 

After taking some time to rest and be still, as I struggled with my desire to isolate myself from others, I finally reached a place where I felt ready to try out a new church. I chose a weekend where it was just Kylie and me, and we drove the two minutes down the road to the church campus. We settled in, enjoyed the music, and then I had to just shake my head and laugh as the sermon began and was centered on “community and connection.” It truly felt like the words were being said for me and me only. Message received.

And because God knows me, and knows I can be a little hard headed at times, that was the same week that I decided, in my attempt to get things organized in the house, to get the shower fixed in the boys’ bathroom. During the summer, the handle of the shower had snapped clean off the wall- metal and all. We were down to two functioning showers for five people- not a terrible ratio but boys are gross and I was done sharing my bathroom with them. I had called a plumber, then another, then another, as they continued to not show up on the days they said they would. On the third try, when the plumber actually showed up, he replaced the part of the handle that had snapped (the “cartridge”), and then proceeded to tell me what “trim” I needed to order and install when I received it. I followed his instructions and ordered the new handle immediately. But we were now three weeks later, and the handle was still sitting in the Amazon box in my office. As I watched YouTube videos to try and teach myself what needed to happen next, my mind would shut down. I realized that everyone has their talents and gifts, and plumbing is just not one of mine, even though I now know the correct lingo for shower parts. 

I put out the call for help on my Facebook page and within 20 minutes, I had more than 10 offers to help. The shower handle was installed and by the next day, the boys were back to showering in their own bathroom, leaving me my peace and sanctuary once again.

And what I learned through that situation, in the week where God had already lectured me directly on community and connection through the sermon at church, was that I have this whole community of people out there who want more than anything to help. They are actively waiting for me to let them know how they can step in and support us. And that is a wonderful thing. 

A few days later, as I was cleaning out an area of my bedroom (seriously, I know spring cleaning is a thing, but since we are heavy into the lacrosse season during spring and have zero down time to do cleaning of any kind, apparently in this house it is “end of summer” cleaning), I came across the guest book from Todd’s celebration of life and funeral. As I opened the green cover, I realized I had never taken the time to look through it before. My heart was absolutely overwhelmed by the amount of names on the pages and the lovely messages of support. Mixed in with the names of my closest friends and family were so many other names, some that I know but only had the chance to meet once or twice while Todd was alive; others that I know only through connecting after his death; and still others that I didn’t ever have a chance to meet- but it was as if God was saying “Just in case the words of the sermon were not enough, and just in case the actual act of those willing to support you through an act of service was not enough, here is a physical list of the people out there who want to be there for you and the kids. You are not alone. Ever. Connect.” 

Message received.

So as time continues to move forward, and as we continue to move through this season, I’m trying really hard to put aside everything but that current message to connect. It took me 17 months to accept the label of “widow,” but I took a major step and met up this past week with a new support group for widows. I had tried several grief support groups within the last year, but none were a good fit. My neighbor had introduced me to a good friend of hers who was also widowed at a young age, and I felt an instant connection with her. She reached out to let me know she was starting a new group in our area through the Never Alone Widows ministry, and I could not be more hopeful to see where this goes following our first meeting. Everything about their posts online, their message and the beautiful hearts of the women who are leading this new group have connected directly to mine. 

After finally listening to those messages to rest, be still and then connect, I’m feeling a bit more refreshed, renewed and ready for whatever comes next in this journey and in this season. Thank you for continuing to be a part of that community and support for me- I promise I’ll try not to go so long without connecting again!