Have you struggled to find joy?  Does your mind and mouth fill with negative responses to life’s smallest details even though you want to be full of peace?  I know what that feels like.  I battled with this for the past few years.  I’ve put a smile on my face and did my best to show contentment and peace. But the interior reality has been sorrow, guilt, depression, and a want to isolate. 

If you follow my blog, you know my regular practice, until 2024, was to post once or twice a week.  This was something I enjoyed doing and people enjoyed reading them.  In the past 6 months, five blogs made it to my website.  A major reason for this is the death of my husband on February 3,  2024. 

Losing my husband tore pieces out of me that I didn’t expect.  My writing went on hold without a restart date.  My mind went from numbness and uncertainty to a cacophony of new responsibilities and decisions that were now mine.  Some things Mike handled well for years are now on my to-do list.  I was never taught because Mike was here to do them.  He tried to pass on his knowledge but we both believed God was going to somehow, someway fill Mike with health again.  So, we delayed talking about death.  We both know we both considered there was a different future ahead. 

Mike had two serious diseases he battled for years—heart disease and kidney disease.  He had two open-heart bypass surgeries.  He had one in 1999 and another in 2016.  Mike was not a smoker or a drinker.  We grew most of our vegetables, ate very little red meat, and only ate occasional fast food.  I made everything from scratch, and we lived healthy lives by book standards.  So, heart disease was a surprise.

Kidney disease began forty years ago with kidney stones.  The doctors didn’t give us any answers. All they told us was his body wasn’t processing calcium correctly.  So, we researched and bought new calcium supplements.  Fewer stones formed and soon, there were not any more.  We thought his kidney issues were over. 

His job as a security guard in a huge government plant required him to take annual physical exams.  The guards had to run a mile, do pushups, sit-ups, etc., and do blood work.  Year after year he passed with flying colors, until 1979.

In late March, he went to work not feeling great.  After an hour, he checked in with the doctor on site.  The doctor sent him home saying, “It looks like the flu, but get an appointment with your regular doctor when you get home. Four days later he had quadruple bypass surgery because the main artery of his heart was 95% blocked.  In 2018, he had his second bypass surgery. 

Along with kidney and heart disease, Mike endured two years of unknown virus attacks that nearly took his life.  The first virus was in 1971-1972 and the second in 2018-2019.  The doctors never found the source of these viruses.

Then in 2020, he got COVID.  His heart function went down and his kidney function all but bottomed out.  The doctors put him on dialysis three times a week for three hours at a time.  These three years of dialysis were the hardest trials of all.

I watched my strong, happy, active husband go from 210 pounds to 135.  He looked like a Holocaust victim.  His color was grey.  He had gout in his feet and pain in every part of his body.  He had trouble sleeping yet, lying down surrounded by pillows was his most comfortable position. 

He was limited to how many ounces of fluid he could drink and since COVID took his taste buds, there was little he wanted to eat.  Still, both of us had strong faith in God.  We believed He would miraculously restore Mike’s health.  We rarely talked about death or planned for it.  Instead, we planned next year’s garden. 

I became his 24/7 caregiver.  Some days I served him with joy and compassion but on other days grief overwhelmed me. I wanted to help him, but there was nothing I could do to turn things around. I grieved for what he was going through and my loss of freedom.  In the last few months, he needed someone to be with him always. 

Coming home from dialysis, he was weak from the treatment.  He fell a few times trying to climb the three stairs to get into our house.  I had to call 911 to help get him up.  We became frequent visitors to ER and hospital admittance when his body swelled with fluids, or his blood pressure bottomed out. 

Joy was ‘Out of Order.’  We tried to be joyful for each other, to be positive and hopeful.  We tried to keep our complaints to ourselves.  Still, there were times when I didn’t hear Mike when he needed something.  Or he could not hear me when I spoke.

I have had hearing aids in both ears with hearing loss since I was a child. Mike also had hearing loss from his years of having to qualify on the gun range as a deputy sheriff and a security guard.  Not hearing each other caused many frayed nerves and harsh words. 

I had to pull aside and talk to myself.  “He is hurting physically.  He is hurting emotionally.  His strength is gone.  He can’t do anything he wants to do. His dreams are shattered.  He is not yelling out at me; he is yelling out against this attack.  Don’t get angry, be kind.”

On the day he died, Mike woke up at 4:30.  I’d been up late the night before trying to get caught up on chores and emails.  I was not ready to get up.  Still, I asked him, “Do you want some coffee?”

“Sure, bring me some coffee.” 

I brought his coffee and asked him, “Do you want to sit here and drink your coffee for a while?  I can get a little more sleep. Or do you want to get up?”

My caring and compassionate Christian attitude was having difficulty manifesting.  I was exhausted. 

“I may as well get up,” he said. 

This meant it was time to get him dressed, get his shoes on, gather his pills and paraphernalia, and follow him to the living room. 

About fifteen minutes later, he got up and pushed his walker in front of me and we started across the bedroom.  Then I heard him say, “Oh!”

I watched him fold to the floor onto his knees and fall forward on his face.  I tried, but I could not get a response from him, and I could not move him.  My precious warrior husband of 59 years and 8 months was gone.  He was with Jesus now and our son who died in December of 2022 from COVID side effects.

Stroking his head, I wept.  But through tears cried out, “Thank You, God!”   After 40 years of health crisis, pain, and trauma, Mike was finally free. 

Later that morning the coroner arrived, and the funeral home came to take his body.  I sat in the living room. My mind was spinning in a thousand directions. I grabbed my Bible and opened it.  The very first verse I saw was Psalm 32:8

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will guide you with My eye.

Abba was speaking to me.  He knew I needed to know this.  This verse would keep my eyes on Him. He’d been faithful through every storm Mike, and I faced.  He wanted me to know He was still on the job. 

When I started this blog, I wanted to share some insights Holy Spirit revealed to me these past few days about the loss of joy.  But God led me to share our story.  Some of you may be living your trauma journey. 

Trauma can steal your joy.  Jesus said, The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly. John 10:10.  Abundant life includes joy, peace, patience, and all the fruits of Holy Spirit.  God created us to have joy.  Next time I will tell you specific things Holy Spirit revealed and how to see joy restored. 

God bless each of you as you wrestle with your circumstances to grab hold of all Jesus gave us. No matter where you are in your journey, know, these words are for you too.

I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will guide you with My eye.

Shalom  Until next time. ♥