So, to continue Friday’s post…

I worked Tuesday-Thursday.  Thursday was my grandma’s visitation.  Friday was her funeral.

Here’s the wrapper from the chocolate I had Thursday evening after the visitation:

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Immediately my mind went to Grandma.  I’m really going to miss her.  Trent said on Facebook that she was sweet and spunky, and that really described her well.  She spoke her mind, but since her mind was sweet, most of the time it wasn’t mean or hurtful.  And in recent years any untoward comments were just brushed off because of her age.  Grandma was sharp as a tack up until the very end; she knew what she was saying and I think she enjoyed being old enough to say whatever she wanted and get away with it.  For example, upon meeting my newest sister-in-law, Grandma said “why, you’re not chubby at all!”  When she saw one of her nephews for the first time in a while he said “It’s so nice to see you!”  She replied, “and there is a lot of you to see!”  One of the cards we got from a lady in her church recounted how welcome Grandma made her feel when she married into the church.  She said that one time she was bemoaning her curly frizzy hair, and Grandma looked at it and said “you have beautiful hair – I think it’s sexy!”

Grandma was not afraid to say most things.  She had a unique perspective on life.  When my mother and I were slightly at odds over my wedding reception (we wanted a carnival themed reception complete with games and she didn’t think that was a good idea) I took the fight to Grandma during one visit my mother and I paid her.  I laid it all out for her and she thought for a minute and then said “You just want to be different, don’t you?”  She didn’t resolve the disagreement, but up until that point both Mom and I hadn’t realized that that was my underlying desire.  She could see right to the heart of most conflicts and issues.

At the visitation I told the story of how Grandma rode her horse across our nearest local river when she was a teenager.  It was during a drought, so the river wasn’t high, but the banks were muddy and she got her horse stuck in the mud.  She worked and worked to get her out, and when she finally did, she had to ride back through the river to get home.  She said she was glad about it because it washed the mud off her and her horse so her parents wouldn’t know about that escapade.  Grandma was a woman who loved life and lived it to the fullest, always.

Friday was the funeral.  When I was a teenager Grandma had told me that she wanted me to play this Chopin nocturne at her funeral:

I haven’t done so well at piano performances lately.  Apparently my nerves aren’t what they used to be.  I have massively messed up every time I’ve played in front of people for the last five years, but with my new and improved chemical balances, I was curious how this would go.  There was no question of me not doing it; Grandma asked me to.  So, with lots of prayer and deep breaths, I played that song better than I ever had before.  Sure, I messed up, but not so bad that it shook me and made the mistakes worse.  I credit God for that.

I wish you all could have heard the pastor’s sermon about Grandma.  Grandma’s pastor and she were very close.  When my mom called the pastor on Sunday morning to tell her that Grandma had died, the pastor burst into tears.  A single woman, whose two grown children live far away, she once told my mom that “Grandma is the only person who says ‘I love you’ to me.”  In the sermon she talked about how Grandma didn’t shy away from the hard questions or the difficult emotions.  She asked the tough questions and wrestled with them until she had a satisfactory answer.  She addressed difficult emotions and dealt with them, which, given her life’s circumstances, was absolutely necessary for her mental health.

I know I may have given you the impression that Grandma was perfect.  Of course she wasn’t.  No one is.  She complained, lots.  Especially about the nursing home she was in the last two years of her life.  Yet, despite her complaints, she was so well loved there that the nursing home janitor took time off to come to her funeral (I’m not so sure about the cook, since it was usually the food that Grandma complained about).  She was a bossy, take-charge, make things happen kind of woman, which is the trait I “claimed” during my visitation speech.  When my father married my mother, my grandmothers fought at their wedding.  That’s what my mom remembers about her wedding day.  My mom always felt inferior to her sister-in-law, a feeling that was reinforced by comments and actions from my paternal grandmother.  Grandma had a clear favorite between her two daughters-in-law, and my mother was not it.  Despite that, my mom encouraged us to spend time with her, to get to know her.  When my father discovered his brother dead in his house and my grandparents arrived, my grandma threw herself into my mother’s arms, almost knocking her over, and sobbing the most awful cries.  In only about the last five years has my mother risen in my grandma’s estimation.  When Grandma and I talked about her obituary she said “I push people, probably more than I should.”  I said “you mean you can see the potential in them and want them to live up to it?”  She said “well, that’s a nice way to put it.”

I made it through the funeral and graveside service just fine.  I was about peopled-out by the end of the lunch though, so I slipped away and found a quiet spot at the church to decompress a little.  We had my cousin and my dad’s cousins over to our house in the afternoon/evening.  Seeing them was fun and it was a very sweet time.

In other news from Friday, I took my last anti-depressants (for right now, anyway).

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I’m a little bit scared about it.  I REALLY don’t want to relapse.  Going down on Wednesday did not assuage my fears at. all.  I’m definitely going to keep up with my management techniques: being thankful, exercising, taking supplements, talking to my mentor, using essential oils, and talking to God near-constantly.  We’ll see how it goes.  According to the doctor, my chemicals are back to normal levels and I’ll be good.  I’m still in therapy, no word yet on when I’ll be able to discontinue that treatment, but that’s completely fine with me.  I don’t want to stop therapy quite yet.

A note about something I said in yesterday’s post, about God not being over Trent, so I can’t be yet either: I think I’m ok with not being over Trent.  This week has been rough, and I really wanted him here.  But I was fine without him, and I think that’s a good thing too.  He gave me his opinion about what went wrong with us the day after he broke up with me.  He said “We projected the desire onto each other to be married. Yes. I believe that marriage was the thing we wanted, but it was not really about each other as much.”  I think that was true.  For him.  He had been married, and he just wanted that life back.  I was a willing participant in his desire, but it was the lifestyle he wanted more than he wanted me.  From my perspective, I wanted to marry him.  He was my best friend, the one man I felt totally comfortable with, the one I wanted to share everything with.  People keep asking me “were you really in love with him, or were you just in love with being in love?”  Honestly, I get offended by that question – although now I think Trent was just in love with being in love.  If I was so desperate to just be married, don’t you think I would have done whatever it took to get married at the first opportunity I had, ten years ago?  No.  I was waiting (and still am) for the right man.  The man that God brings to me.  God put Trent and I together, gave us the opportunity to be the right person for each other.  We both did not rely on God enough to live up to that opportunity.  That’s on us.  We failed.  God did not.  No matter what happens from here on out, God will never fail me.  He will never fail Trent.

From what I’ve heard from other divorced people¹ there came a point in time where God released them from praying for the restoration of the relationship.  A time when God allowed them to move on.  That’s what I’m expecting to happen for me.  Either that, or my prayers will be answered and we will get back together.  I could be totally wrong, wouldn’t be the first time,  and there could be a third option, but for now I have to pray for the restoration of the relationship, because that’s what God has told me to do.  And because God has told me to do it, He’ll help me manage the emotions that come along with praying for someone.  I shouldn’t fear the emotions or worry about my heart breaking further like I have been (I did survive the last heartbreak after all, albeit, with lots of help).  You can’t pray for someone in earnest and not care about them.  I still care very much about Trent.  I said I act like he doesn’t exist on Facebook, but I still watch every Not Your Normal Guy video he puts out on Youtube.  I read every status, every comment, look at every picture.  I wish I could just be his friend again, but I don’t trust myself enough for that.  Maybe in time.  Maybe not at all.

God has told me to ask Him to put Trent and I back together, but even more than that I’m praying for God’s will to be done.  Thinking about God’s will being done is what makes me smile, gets me excited.  I want to be where God is working, I want to see His glory, and see Him be glorified more than I want Trent and I to get back together.  So I’m completely fine with whatever happens, as long as God is glorified.

 

 

¹ If you think “they weren’t married, how can she be comparing it to a divorce?”  We were engaged, and engagement starts the process towards thinking together as one.  Trent and I were both very much ahead of ourselves, and we thought as if we were married, hence when we broke up, it hit me with a force comparable to a divorce – verified by people who have gone through a divorce.  The physical aspect was not as devastating as an actual divorce, but the mental aspect was definitely equal to a divorce, at least on my end.

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Posted by:anessamarie

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