The Long and Winding Road

Tomorrow a year ago began what seems like a whole different life. It had already been a turbulent time of emotions as my family and I discerned that it was time for a new call in ministry, with it's attendant mixed emotions of beginnings and endings. It was already a time of great excitement for a new opportunity and sadness of having to announce I was leaving a place, especially since I detest goodbyes. I thought that was the hard thing- having preached and been called to a new congregation on Sunday and having to announce our departure on Monday. But then Tuesday happened.
On Tuesday morning the phone rang and a woman speaking a mile a minute said things like "ambulance" "hospital" and "collapse." Speaking so quickly and repeating it rapid fire that by the third time I interrupted to ask who she was and why she was calling. "Oh, your husband, it's your husband."
Fumbling in numbness I threw myself together and actually beat the ambulance to the hospital. So when I asked in the ER reception area and they told me there was no one here by that name, my chaplain brain kicked in and I assumed that if there was no live patient with his name that meant only one thing. A chaplain was going to call me with news I did not want to hear.
As I repeated where the ambulance was coming from, they found him, but then my clergy ID was insufficient to go to the ER. I was told I had to walk back outside and through security. Even the security guys were saying it was not necessary but they made me leave and walk outside and around to another entrance and then wait for a visitor sticker. So much for that encrypted clergy tag.
I made it back into the unit and they were bringing him back from tests. It had been so hard to be lost and separated and told I couldn't go past a simple door.
After awhile they decided that because his blood pressure was coming down and he had no chest pain they were sending him home for an outpatient stress test. But as I listened to him describe his symptoms they suddenly rang a bell " my legs felt like concrete" was exactly what his mother said before her heart attack that ended in a quadruple bypass. And the advocacy training of law school kicked in. If his condition might me genetic, so could the symptoms. And I learned how hard it is to be heard.
Apparently I was persistent enough without being irritating.
They ran more tests. One test result, and only one was enough to keep him longer.
And run a test again.
And when that one thing still seemed odd, they decided not to send us home.
That is why my husband did not die at home.
So they decided to perform a heart catheterization the next day.
It took longer than expected.
And when the cardiologist came out he looked astounded.
As "this is is the worst case of coronary artery disease in someone so young" spilled out like a tsunami, followed by " he should have died on your recent vacation with all that hiking." And then- scheduled for surgery followed by- we are keeping him alive until then with a ballon pump.
Time sure feels different when keeping someone alive is at stake
And staying the night was not helpful.
To this day I thank God that our neighbors who happened to work for the cardiologist, swooped in. And our other neighbors mobilized.
It all felt like all I did was ride the wave.
I let family know and deputized people to tell others. There are only so many calls you can make.
And they all feel like it's not real
Having been somewhat self sufficient and used to being the care giver, I realized I simply had to let go. And when a pastor colleague asked what she could do, "Be my pastor" spilled out.
God bless Eileen for sitting with me all day and praying with Michael and I.
In the days and weeks that followed where a steady stream of people and demands emerged, I was always exhausted but also always provided for.
Both by our new church and our neighbors especially. Even people who barely knew us, sustained us- you sustain the weary with a word- has forever changed meaning for me.
Our new congregation could not have been more gracious- from packing and moving us to feeding us and helping at every turn. How odd to show up as the shepherd for others yet needing such shepherding.
Here is the part that followed- the grief part. Yes, Michael survived. Thanks be to God! And yes, we are very happy! But I can tell you that it took a full eight months for me to begin to feel like I wasn't in a fog. Simple things felt gargantuan.
The simplest task like measuring and hanging curtains was a mess. Trying to put rooms together- something I love, felt almost impossible.
And perhaps most of all, taking care of myself, which initially was put on hold, suffered as we waded through adjusting not only to a new place, but a new life.
Of sorting out meds, and falls in the night. Of facing depression and naming griefs.
While both having careers dependent upon poise and focus.
And having to navigate what it takes to move from survive to thrive.
A few months ago I actually sat myself down and pronounced that taking care of my physical and spiritual health needed to happen and made steps to do it.
Reconnecting with my spiritual director, making retreat. Attending to all those appointments- mine, not his. And getting back to the gym.
I have never been a coordinated sort, but after finally getting in decent shape it had all fallen away over most of the year.
It was very hard to stop feeling guilty and sad about how all my hard work had evaporated and the 20 pounds had crept on.
And at 51, going on 52, no small feat.
I give thanks for my mutual ministry committee for gently encouraging me and for my trainer, Lisa who has been willing to work with a person who already had a curve in my spine, and war wounds of fitness in a knee and shoulders. And who would work with someone who will not be the "buff gym success story."
She helped me get over myself and just start working back. And I give thanks for Betsy who bugged me when I did not show up for spin class. She spins to get over losing a son. I could surely get over getting to keep a husband. Boy is grief a powerful thing.
When I got to walk "energetically" with Michael in a 5k for Betsy's son, it was victory!
I have farther to go to get back to the me I was a year ago. And yet in some ways I am infinitely wiser and stronger. Maybe the me I was has been resurrected- and born anew!
Not the least of which is realizing it was my back that needed to be stronger in my training. For years I was always in pain even after training and told myself I just needed to work harder. That was how my ministry felt sometimes too. Work harder.
Turns out I didn't need to work so hard- I just needed to let others guide me.
Maybe this is a story about managing grief, or about accepting who I am. Maybe it's about telling that no matter who you are or what you face, you can work through it with faith and patience with yourself.
Probably most of all it's about seeing how much God carries us through others- not to show our weakness but to demonstrate how God strengthens us. I cannot even imagine how we would have carried on without God in so many people.
I finally am getting the last of the parsonage together- 11 months later. The old me would be horrified. The new me is just grateful that so many people have shepherded us on the long and winding road. We absolutely knew God has called us here. We give thanks and hope there is much more of the road together to come.