Here I sit in my new kitchen.
Here I have been for the last 36 hours, unloading belongings from our home into uncharted territory. I love my new place. God is so good, and I could not ask for anything more. He has blessed me with a new place to call home, the sale of my house in a horrendous market, miraculous and continuous help to get everything done along the way, and far more than I am quite ready to share just yet.
But still. Here I am.
Personal pictures had been boxed and stored months ago in anticipation for the house showings. Taking these things out one by one, unwrapping each item, it's utterly painful. After a long couple of days, and refusing to give in to the need to sleep, I began the task of setting up my scrapbooking room. I figured it would be a place of rest and ease. However, one of the
first envelopes I came across said 'Evelyn 2011'. I knew opening it that it would contain pictures up until February 5. . .I was right. If my brain has the capacity to remember anything, I think I actually put this envelope together the night Matt died. He didn't feel good, and went to sleep early, leaving me to scrap in solitude. Disgustingly, and ironically, I clearly remember thinking a number of times that evening how much I was deeply enjoying the solitude I never received as a working mother and wife. I could kick myself.
'Evelyn 2011' contained only a couple of pictures. Her birthday party, pictures littered with presents from her dad. Our trip to Nickelodeon Universe on her exact birth date. Which turned out to be the last family outing we ever had. Pictures from the night Evelyn and I were glued to the WII, playing Disney Princesses, with Matt hovering over us poking fun every step of the way. And then there was the last picture we ever took together; Evelyn was the photographer. Matt was hooded in a maroon sweatshirt (one that I wear often now), making a ridiculous face, as I sat beside him trying my best to resemble cute in my postpartum state. What amazing pictures these now are. What value they have. To me, to Evelyn. Just some goofy faced picture on an idle weekday night. These pictures stunned me.
He just up and died. Matt died. My Mattyo. Dead and gone forever.
And so now here I sit in my new kitchen just days before saying a final goodbye to the home we built together, and I'm torn. I had a conversation with a friend this week explaining how I have been feeling a lot of angst recently. Angst at the line I'm treading between grief, and wanting to rejoice in God's provisions. He has been so faithful. He has been so kind. He has met every last need I've had, and continues to give to me tenfold that.
But my gracious Father. Abba Father. I am still here.
The pain morphs everyday, as I assume it will for quite some time to come. I'm becoming all too acquainted with the need to allow myself to morph within those changes as well. These are steps forward, steps in the right direction, just not steps we were prepared for.