19 Hours

Hi Joe:

I went to Shoe and Stocking Friday night. My first solo camping trip ever. I guess it wasn’t really solo, since Bella was there. I also invited Jesus.

We got there around 7pm, and our favorite spots were already taken. So I pulled into a site where we’d never camped before. Feeling awkward around myself, I set up camp – what little set up there was, since we would be sleeping in the car. After exploring a bit (someone had made a homemade potty!), I ate a Chicken Marsala dinner with banana cake left over from work and sat there awhile as the sun set. The evening was windy and cool enough for sweatpants, and the moon was full and bright. I was quick to tell you when I saw the first star in the sky – I was always the first to see it, wasn’t I? And then I cried.

The night was pretty uneventful, and our blanket/sleeping bag mound in the car was quite comfortable. All was going well until I accidentally hit something and the car alarm started blaring at 5:30am. Time to get up! Luckily, it shut itself off a minute or so after waking up every man, woman and child in the vicinity. So much for the peace and quiet of camping!

We started hiking around 9am. On my way to the trailhead of the last hike we ever did together, I walked through one of our old campsites, the one where we had our bikes. My throat tightened, and I could barely breathe as the memories of our camping days played in my mind. I continued to the trailhead, sobbing and gasping for breath. Everything I saw reminded me of us, of you, of your not being there. The fallen tree we had to climb over was still there, and I think I found the stump you sat on 5 and ½ weeks before you died. The hike was unchanged, but everything was different. The movie of us kept playing over and over in my head – a movie I could keep hitting the pause and back buttons, but I could never again push play or fast forward. I was losing you all over again.

After that hike, Bella and I walked a couple of hours on the road where we’d driven past the old homestead. It was a hike you and I had never done, and I kinda liked it. I had planned to do our all-time favorite hike along Shoe and Stocking Creek - the one where we saw the elk and the turkeys and the coyotes playing in the field while we ate lunch. But I couldn’t. Maybe when I get to Heaven, we can do that one together.

One of my favorite things about camping was our après hike routine of taking our stinky boots off and remarking to each other how bad they smelled, lounging in our chairs with a cold beverage, talking about nothing in particular or not talking at all. Doing nothing with you was about as perfect as it got. Now, with my hiking done for the day, the empty silence was just plain empty. So I started this letter and hoped that somewhere you were thinking of me too.

In the middle of writing, I suddenly had the urge to pack up and go home. I had wanted to stay for two days, but the draw to leave was irresistible. Like I mentioned before, Jesus had come too. I’ve found that when I ask Him to join me, He’s always there in His own special way. I thought His being there would save me from being so desperately sad. It didn’t. I told Him my heart was too full of you, but He said my heart was big enough for both you and Him. I’m convinced He’s the One that told me to go home. He is all about mercy, you know. So 19 hours into my first solo camping trip, Jesus, Bella and I were homeward bound. Because we all know there’s no place like home.

“And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you.” -- 1 Peter 5:10 (ESV)

Ice Cream, Tostitos and Jesus

Joe and I ordered a new couch from a furniture store in Denver about two weeks before he died. The night before it was to be delivered, we needed to move our old couch into the garage to make space for our new arrival. Our garage is a two-car garage, but one of us would have to park outside so the old couch would fit in there. I got in my car to move it outside (slightly put out, I might add -- it was quite chilly), when Joe yelled at me that he would park outside. I yelled back that I would park outside. He yelled back that he would park outside. We persisted back and forth for a minute or two, both crying, until Joe said softly, “You have to let me park outside.”

What our hearts realized at that moment was that the roles we had always played in our relationship were changing -- that our story together (at least here on earth) was reaching its final chapter. Both of us were sad and scared, and neither one of us could do anything about it.

I can’t remember who said it or if I read it somewhere recently, but the sign of a good marriage is one in which both people feel like they got the better end of the deal. I happen to know that I won the lottery with Joe; but for some reason, he always felt the same about me. We fulfilled each other’s greatest need. I was needy, and Joe needed to be needed. That night, I needed for Joe to park outside, and Joe needed me to need him to park outside.

I’ve been able to fill the needy hole a little bit by remembering the lessons Joe taught me, relying on family and friends who have been amazing and by even hiring professionals to help out here and there. I’m busy and fulfilled with a new job, a new church and with exercise class, tennis and hiking. But I can’t shake the loneliness. It’s always there, following me around like my shadow. It’s the knowing that when something good or funny or bad happens in my life, the person I love most isn’t here to listen and laugh about it. There’s no one who understands how funny it is when Bella runs around in circles in the field, and no one to share dinner with. I eat Oregon Hazelnut and Salted Caramel “really creamy” ice cream with mashed up Reese Cups (my personal touch) and handfuls of Tostitos for dinner, and don’t really even enjoy it (much). A couple of years ago, I read an article about a man who lost his wife to cancer. One of the things he said was that he had a lot of people to do something with, but he had no one to do nothing with. It’s this restless “by-myself-ness” that’s confusing and overwhelming and makes me tired.

Lonely, needy and tired. So now what?

It’s really quite simple. I think God backs us into a corner, because He wants us to realize that He is our only answer. He wants to be our Father, our Friend, our Healer, our Light, our Refuge, our All in All, our Everything. He is the only Person who can take care of me better than Joe. But I have to let Him, and it’s my choice to make.

Why is it so hard for me to let Him be Who He says He is? Can a spiritual relationship with our Creator be as real and as satisfying as a husband/wife relationship? What does a deep spiritual relationship with Christ look like? How can you have a best friend you can’t even see? I don’t pretend to know the answers to these questions. But I do know that He was there for both Joe and I when Joe was sick, and He’s been there for me in undeniable ways after Joe’s death. My head knows He won’t disappoint on a deeper level, but my heart just doesn’t know how to give in even though it wants to. I think it’s broken.

The most important thing I know is that Jesus died, rose again and defeated death so that I can live forever with Him in Heaven – with all of the folks I love! For this sacrifice, I owe Him my best efforts at getting to know Him for everything that He is. He’ll take care of the rest.

“You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.” --Jeremiah 29:13

I’ve posted this song before on Caringbridge or Facebook, because it reflects how I’ll always feel about Joe. I also do a weird thing with songs sometimes, where I turn them around to be Christian songs. The songwriter probably didn’t intend this in most cases, but I do it quite frequently. After all, Christ created everything, including music, so it makes sense that “A Better Place” could be considered my prayer to my Savior. A song for Joe and for Jesus - kind of a BOGO (buy one, get one free).

Oh – and who ended up parking outside? Joe, of course. It was cold, after all. Joe always kept me warm and safe -- he made my world a better place. God led Joe and I to each other (a match made in Heaven), so I trust that He will amaze me like He’s always done if I find the courage to give my heart fully to Him. And thank God, He has made this world and the next a better place for all of us.

“So I pour my heart into your hands
It's like you really understand
You love the way I am.” -- Rachel Platten, A Better Place

I'll See You in My Dreams

It’s been 4 months and 8 days since Joe died. Not that I’m counting…

Sadness and missing him colors every day and everything I do, but by the grace of God, my sorrow is not all-encompassing. Somehow, I still get up, I still eat (too much), I still work, I still laugh, I still play. Maybe not as much as I used to and with not as much conviction as before, but I do these things – and that gives me hope. Hope that maybe life will go from black and white to high definition again one day.

Every now and again during the past 4 years of our journey, I would “stumble” upon a video or article or some other something or someone that I knew God placed in my path for a reason. At the time, my head knew these were breadcrumbs from God, but my heart didn’t want them – I didn’t want to have to rely on them. So I tried not to think about them. But despite my best efforts, each snippet had been lodged in my heart, waiting to be retrieved when needed.

One of those snippets came from a video I watched on the Internet probably three years ago about a man whose wife died from cancer. He said that God didn’t choose to heal his wife; He chose to save her. I’ve never forgotten the wistful look on the man’s face and how sadly hopeful his words sounded. He knew that God had reasons of His own for not answering prayers the way we want. We don’t know what those reasons are, and we wish the story’s ending had been different. I wish I didn’t know how he feels.

I don’t know why Joe wasn’t healed. We prayed, we begged, we did all the things we thought God told us to do. I’m confused, hurt and so desperately sad that it’s hard to catch my breath. I wish that Joe dying from cancer hadn't been God’s will. Why does His will have to be so hard and so unfair? Shouldn’t life be about what I want? It's all about me, right? (Ok, don’t answer those questions…)

When I get hung up on what I wanted, it helps me to think about Jesus. Talk about unfair. He did everything right, and He could easily have saved Himself from the horror of His death on the Cross. And the shame that preceded His death. He begged His Father to change His mind. “Father, if you are willing, please take this cup of suffering away from me. Yet I want Your will to be done, not mine.” -- Luke 22:42

If even Jesus struggled with God’s will, I guess I’m not so weird after all. And, as we all know, Jesus chose to fulfill God’s will to save us. We are His joy – we always will be. I thank God that Jesus chose us rather than what would have been easiest for Him.

"We must never stop looking to Jesus. He is the leader of our faith, and He is the one who makes our faith complete. He suffered death on a cross. But He accepted the shame of the cross as if it were nothing because of the joy He could see waiting for him. And now He is sitting at the right side of God’s throne." -- Hebrews 12:2 (CEV)

Like that man in the video’s wife, Jesus didn’t choose to heal Joe, but He did save him. Forever in Heaven is a long time, and knowing that I'll see him there brings me peace. Can anything be more important? Can anything be more hopeful? Four years of life with cancer saved us both, to be honest. It’s strange how God uses exactly what we fear most to bring us to Himself. 

I’m trying to accept that God’s will was not what I wanted and to be the person He created me to be, because just maybe it's not all about me. Moving past myself to move forward is the hardest thing I’ve ever tried to do. But I realize it’s my choice to make, and He will drop breadcrumbs whenever I start to lose my way.

I’m not exactly sure what Joe is doing right now, but I kinda believe he prays for me -- probably all the time, because he knows how needy I am. I also believe when he's not praying for me, he's using his carpentry skills. Or maybe he can pray for me and work at the same time, because I bet folks can multi-task pretty easily in Heaven. At any rate, Jesus says that He is building many mansions for us. Joe built our home in Colorado, so it stands to reason that he’s working on our home in Heaven.

“In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.” -- John 14:2

My nephew introduced me a few weeks ago to Amazon Prime movies and helped me install the app on my Smart TV. Hundreds of “free” movies at the click of a remote control button. Who knew? So I watched a movie last night called “I’ll See You in my Dreams.” It made me think of Joe (everything does), and I wished that I had dreams about Joe. I think I will, but I must not be ready. Anyway, I loved the theme song of the movie. Hope you do too.

Here We Go

"Honor Christ and let Him be the Lord of your life. Always be ready to give an answer when someone asks you about your hope."
    --1 Peter 3:15 (CEV)

I have created this Blog in memory of my husband, Joe Tully. You always hear that keeping a journal during times of crisis helps you process things. This was true for me with CaringBridge posts I wrote when Joe was sick. For whatever reason, typing out my thoughts and feelings was a release of sorts. I figure if writing helped then, maybe I should continue the exercise as I struggle through the other side of losing Joe.

So my goals with this Blog are two-fold - partially selfish, partially altruistic. My hope is that my words not only help me process my own life, but that they also will help you somehow, some way when life doesn't work out how you hoped.

I have no idea what will "come out," how, when, why or for how long. But if you're willing to go on this journey with me, I'd love to have your company. The door's open.

This is a way I can make our Lord proud, and a way for me to honor Joe's memory. So here goes.....

"And we all know that the sun will shine;
I must go and chase this dream of mine.
And I know I can do you proud
When I'm high above those clouds."
    --Wars, The Strumbellas

You Hold My Heart in Your Hands

JOE TULLY

November 11, 1955 - November 11, 2016

Since I created this Blog in memory of my husband, Joe, I figured I'd tell you a little more about the man who made my life richer than I ever thought possible. I thank God every day for the gift of my husband. Joe, you will always be my sun in the middle of rain.

This quote is from the movie Shadowlands, which is about the life of Christian writer C.S. Lewis. The quote is adapted from his final words to his dying wife Joy:

"Not much more to say. I love you, Joe. I love you so much. You’ve made me so happy. I didn’t know I could be so happy. You’re the truest person I’ve ever known. Sweet Jesus, be with my beloved husband, Joe. Forgive me if I love him too much. Have mercy in us both." 

You Hold My Heart in Your Hands

My sweet Joe:

I don’t even know how to begin. There’s so much to say; but thankfully, nothing was unsaid. The bottomless ache of missing you is more than I can bear. But the wave of love created by the people who love us most is gently nudging me forward. And since you and I are joined by the same Holy Spirit, I hear your whisper deep inside me.

Oh, how I love you, and oh, how I love the life we had together. I asked if you were mad, and you said “No.” I know you were sad more for us than for yourself. That’s what love is, right?

For me, the past four years have been an excruciating dance between hope and despair, life and death. But you’ve always accepted life’s hardest challenges without fighting, complaint or pity. Choose joy, right? You accepted the path God chose for you. Right after one of the worst reports we could have gotten, you shrugged and said, “What’s for dinner?” As usual, I replied, “I don’t know.”

You loved ice fishing. Personally, I think you enjoyed the beer (Smithicks over Guinness) more than the fishing. And you recently discovered emoji’s. I cherish the “I love you’s” accompanied by a string of eight perfectly-selected images. You never lost that childlike sense of curiosity and wonder. It could drive me nuts; but then again, isn’t that what it’s all about?

You loved your plants and birds, your riding lawn mower, golf, camping, hiking – everything outdoors. And putzing around the house. And your dog Bella. She’s still YOUR dog. And scratch tickets. We can’t forget the scratch tickets. We wondered how we would pay for our wedding, and you won $5000 two weeks before we were married. So I guess scratch tickets aren’t so bad.

You loved your work and your friends. But clear, concise articulation of your thoughts and feelings was not one of your gifts. Your friend Todd told me that he and Mike were the only two people on earth who knew how to “speak Joe.”

You lived simply, uncluttered, slow. What you see is what you get. You never worked at becoming someone - you just were who you were. You saw the flowers while I was heedlessly stepping on them. You were content to be in the background, and you were fully present. You breathed deeply, laughed large and let life carry you.

You hugged too hard. Literally. Sometimes it felt like being squeezed by a boa constrictor. But I realize isn’t this how it should be?

You loved your family with all of your great, big, uncomplicated heart. You will always be Uncle Joey with the never-ending supply of doughnuts.

You told me that you’ve always muted your big, baritone voice, and that you knew in Heaven, you could really belt it out. I can imagine the angels with their hands over their ears. If I’m still enough, I hear you too. I only wish I needed to put my hands over my ears.

You were born again on your birthday. Your life came full circle. I take enormous comfort in knowing that you accomplished what God sent you here to do. You never had to look for your purpose; you were always in it without even trying. I believe this was God’s greatest gift to you – and to me. You were taken from me too soon, but your Father was ready for you. Well done, Joe - kudos.

You loved taking care of me. You told me I held your heart in my hands. You are my sun in the middle of rain. You taught me how to see and to live the sun in the middle of rain. I’ll honor your precious and brilliant life by opening my heart bravely and without struggle to the sun in the middle of rain. Maybe one day, I’ll learn how to speak Joe.

     ---Meg Tully, November 14, 2016