When the Dust Settles

The Merriam-Webster dictionary refers to "the dust settles" as an idiom.  It's "used to talk about what happens when things become clear or calm after a period of change or confusion."  Example: "I'll call you as soon as the dust settles from the move."  When Josiah had open heart surgery, there was initial chaos (meticulously ordered chaos).  Then the dust settled.  The surgery was over; His risk of imminent death, all but extinct.  He was stronger, as were we.  Fear behind us, hope ahead.  When someone dies....the dust must settle....but when?  How?  What does that even look like?  These thoughts have been permeating my mind.

When someone dies, it is like a dust storm.  In our case, it came without warning.  It presented in the middle of the night, whilst we slept.  It's results were swift and mighty.  It left, in its wake, unimaginable destruction, and silence.

Since John's death, 15 days ago, layers of dust remain.  We clean but the dust has settled into places we haven't yet touched.  Imagine entering a room covered in a layer of dust.  You dust the top layers and think, "Great! I'm making progress."  Then you move one item.  Dust falls to the floor.  There is dust underneath the item you move.  It is cyclical.  It is repetitive.  It's a constant reminder of the storm that blew through.  It's a reminder that despite your effort, the dust remains.  Even when you can't see it, it is there.

When the dust settles, the dust may never truly be gone.  Your life remains the same, but oddly changed.  The world continues to move about, blissfully unaware of the storm you have endured.  You continue to go about your day; others may not see the difference.  You know.  You are forever changed.  You are dirty.  You are tired.  You wonder.  You question.  You cry.  You persevere.  You are you but you are different.  The dust is a part of you.

My perception of things "becoming clear or calm after a period of change of confusion" has been forever altered.  

Nothing about John's death, or how we experienced it, is clear.  Things are calm but only because we have a schedule that we do not divert from.

I don't know why I fell in love the first time, only to have to say goodbye.

John and I reunited because we still shared a love for each other.  We believed in second chances.  We believed in fairy tale endings.  We believed we had endured our own struggles to arrive at this happy ending.  We believed.

I don't know why my beautiful boys had to lose their Daddy.  When John entered their life, he was their second chance, too.  He confirmed that something beautiful can come from tragedy.  John had stepped up to be their Dad, without question or hesitation.  John was going to adopt them in the Fall.  I don't know why my beautiful boys had to lose their step-Dad, too.  Life is truly a mystery.  It can be sad.  It can be unfair.  Just like a dust storm, it can come in and permanently alter every aspect of your life.

I don't know when dust settles.  Maybe it never truly does.  Maybe we just adapt to it.

  

Daddy's Gone

After being told that Carl was gone, life changed in an instant.  First and foremost, I had to tell people.  I informed Carl's brother who was already enroute to the hospital but now coming here.  I called my Dad.  I called my sister-in-law.  I called the Elementary School.  I was in disbelief, shock, and dismay. 

At 10am, Carl's family had arrived at my house.  Together, we headed to the hospital.  My family met us there.  A chaplain awaited our arrival.  Carl's Mom, brother, sister-in-law, and I headed to Carl's room.  The curtain was drawn across the room.  In the end, I chose not to witness what lie behind it.  The others did.  Heeding their advice, I held strong to the last images of Carl that were deeply embedded in my brain.  That was enough.

I returned to the waiting room.  Carl's belongings were brought to me.  His briefcase, a hospital bag, and his boots - the last items that he had touched, worn, and used.  It was surreal.  It was incomprehensible.  It was over.  My Love was gone, and life would never again be the same.

Everyone returned to the house.  Josiah arrived home at 11.  He was happy and blissfully unaware of the tragedy that had just taken place.  He knew not to be sad.  He knew not that he had just lost his Dada.  He smiled, laughed, and gave reason for us to carry on.

At 3:05, the big bus arrived home.  The boys immediately noticed that family cars were in the driveway.  They asked why.  They asked what was going on.  I asked them in and sat them down on the big beanbag.

It is heartbreaking to know that you are delivering the worst possible news to your children.  I remembered back to Saturday.  After talking to the ICU MD, I told the boys that Daddy was sicker than he had ever been.  I told them that Daddy was so sick, he might have to go to Heaven to be well.  The hypothetical had now become reality.  I reminded them of that earlier conversation.  I then broke the news that Daddy, in fact, had gone to Heaven.  In that moment, the world stood still.  Nobody existed but my children and I.  In a room full of people, I found silence.

The boys only reaction, in that moment, was of understanding.  The anticipated tears and meltdowns were null and void.  Soon after, they went on to play.  My heart broke as I knew the reactions would surface.  I didn't know when.  I didn't know to what extent.  Daddy was gone.  When was that information going to sink in???