Tuesday, February 2, 2010

I will go through the valley - 1/26/10

It has been one month today. I miss Chris desperately. I miss everything about him, about our life, our love, but I am living my life as well as I can – working to live the life that he would want for me and for Colleen.

We are back in College Station this week after spending the last week in my childhood home in CC. At our church on Sunday, a group of us sat and cried together after the service. We talked, and prayed, and remembered. One of the hardest things for me now is seeing the hurt in the eyes of the people that I love. Sometimes I feel like the grief of others is harder for me to handle that my own grief. Seeing the love that people have for us is overwhelming. It reminds me again how amazingly blessed I am to be surrounded by people who love me, love Colleen, and love Chris. We had a great week, but, even though this was the house that I grew up in, I know that my home, our home, is here – in College Station – where Chris and I built a beautiful life.

Even though it feels like it was an entire other lifetime ago, I can look around and joyfully remember the life that we had here at our home. The fist week we were back, right after the accident, I tried not to go into our home office. The office was “Dada’s room” – the room that he was thrilled to has as his own when we moved into our house. The room is all Chris. The shelves are filled with shoes from his impressive collection of Jordans, the walls covered with basketball memorabilia, and the bookshelves lined with sports biographies, vintage Star Wars figurines, and his favorite books from when he was a kid. There is no way to come into this room and not feel close to him. As I sit here today at the computer, surrounded by his favorite things, my heart aches for him.

On Sunday, my parents took Colleen to run errands and left me here to rest. I ended up not sleeping, but here in the office - his room. I took that time to do something that I had been putting off. I spent almost 2 hours reading all of the Facebook messages that people have sent me over the last month. I went to Chris’ fan page, read all of the entries, and re-watched the video from the memorial service for the first time. I logged into his old hotmail account, and read a folder of emails that he had saved from when we were first dating – over 6 years ago. And I let myself weep. I wept for myself, for Colleen, for our families. I wept for his friends, who loved him like a brother. I wept for the life that we could have had.

As I wept, I was listening to a song that someone had reminded me of right after the accident. It’s a song that I have heard before, but have never really had the context to understand. The song is a prayer, and as I listened I prayed her words. I prayed that God would lead me through this valley, this fire, to the life that he has promised. I prayed and asked for strength, the strength to not to have to understand, but just to know that God’s heart is full of love, and that he will never leave me. As I write this now, I can’t help but cry – but I don’t feel alone.

I remember in the first days I couldn’t imagine how I would feel a month after the accident. Today I can say that I feel better – more at peace – than I would have expected, but that I know now that the ache in my heart will never go away. It will stay with me as a reminder –a welcome, beautiful reminder - of the gift that God gave me when he gave me Chris. And for that, and all the other blessing in my life, I remain thankful.

With love,

If You Want Me To
Ginny Owens

The pathway is broken
And the signs are unclear
And I don’t know the reason why you brought me here
But just because You love me the way that You do
I will go through the valley
If You want me to

Now I'm not who I was
When I took my first step
And I'm clinging to the promise
You're not through with me yet
So if all of these trials bring me closer to You
I will go through the fire
If You want me to

It may not be the way I would have chosen
When you lead me through a world that's not my home
But You never said it would be easy
You only said I'll never go alone

So when the whole world turns against me
And I'm all by myself
And I can't hear You answer my cries for help
I'll remember the suffering Your love put You through
And I will go through the valley
If You want me to


  1. I don't know you. And I am so sorry for your loss. I don't know what you're going through and I pray that God blesses your life with joy that can only be found in the midst of these tribulations.

    This song is one that I copied for my sister-in-law as she was undergoing T-Cell transplant about 8 months before passing away with Malignant Melanoma. She was 26. I miss her everyday, and can't help but cry whenever I hear the song because it so perfectly describes the journey through the valley. I've never wanted so badly to be with her, but had it not been for her and what I witnessed with her through her disease and finally, death, I would not truly know the grace and power of Jesus Christ. I am praying for your strength and power. Keep telling your story, someone somewhere is reading it and you are leading them to Jesus.

  2. I can tell you are such a sweet woman, though I've never met you. I admire your steadfastness in following God even in your sadness. As you've already discovered, He is right there with you, sharing your load. I am posting a link to your blog from mine (if you don't mind) and spreading the word. I will ask God to bring you to mind so I can pray for you often. I can't even imagine walking this road you are on. God bless you immensely!

  3. Kristin,

    I'm a 37 year old widower. Like you, I lost my lover, partner, teammate, and wife in the time that it took for one heart-beat. Her's. Her heart failed as a result of a hidden defect that was exacerbated by the recent birth of our second child.

    I don't know you, but I do know something about grieving for a sudden loss. Take your time. Let the grace of God flow around you. Let your loved ones hep you. Lean on them and lean on Him.

    For me, one month -- even six months -- were all surreal... days flowed together ... out of nowhere powerful emotions would strike. I have memories of standing in Starbucks, in line, crying my eyes out. Time will not heal this wound, but it will make you more able to deal with it.

    From what I've read of your blog, you have a very good attitude and approach to grieving... don't be afraid to embrace it... we _need_ to feel it, or at least I did.

    If you need an outlet to share, you can find me through my blog "hyatt911.blogspot.com"

    Hug that little one of yours...