{"id":8352,"date":"2020-05-22T10:20:31","date_gmt":"2020-05-22T15:20:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thedisciplemaker.org\/?p=8352"},"modified":"2020-05-22T10:20:31","modified_gmt":"2020-05-22T15:20:31","slug":"waiting-and-grieving-with-honesty","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/sites\/thedisciplemaker\/2020\/05\/waiting-and-grieving-with-honesty\/","title":{"rendered":"Waiting and Grieving with Honesty"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"bsf_rt_marker\"><\/div>\n<p>My husband, Robb had been gone for maybe two weeks when my young boys and I packed up for a trip back to Ohio. I moved to Colorado in my early twenties, and my soul took root right away. My soul breathes deep in Colorado air, but my heart still feels at home in Ohio, with the smell of cut grass in the summer, the changing leaves in the autumn, the snow that stays so long it turns gray in the winter, and the grand openings of ice-cream stands in the spring. My sons, my parents, and I made a pilgrimage back to the Midwest because that is home for us. An important part of me exhales in the safe presence of my many cousins and the magical healing power of my aunt Joyce\u2019s banana cake. When everything fell apart because the other half of my marriage had died, we packed up and we went to Ohio. Because of course. You fix what you can fix.<\/p>\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-coblocks-click-to-tweet\"><p class=\"wp-block-coblocks-click-to-tweet__text\">I want to believe you are good. I want to trust you. But everything is wrong. And you could have kept all of this from happening.<\/p><a class=\"wp-block-coblocks-click-to-tweet__twitter-btn has-button-color\" style=\"background-color:#d19f2a\" href=\"http:\/\/twitter.com\/share?&amp;text=I%20want%20to%20believe%20you%20are%20good.%20I%20want%20to%20trust%20you.%20But%20everything%20is%20wrong.%20And%20you%20could%20have%20kept%20all%20of%20this%20from%20happening.&amp;url=https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/sites\/thedisciplemaker\/waiting-and-grieving-with-honesty\/&amp;via=NavPress\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Tweet<\/a><\/blockquote>\n\n\n<p>I remember putting the boys to sleep one night on the pull-out couch in my aunt Janet\u2019s basement. I would later join them, or rather, I would later <em>move them<\/em> to their sleeping bags on the floor when I was ready for bed myself. Something seemed to ease the bedtime routine when they got to start out in my bed. They knew they\u2019d better be quiet and obedient, since they felt they were getting away with something.<\/p>\n\n\n<p>I should tell you that I have never in my life quite gotten over the precious everything of my boys when they are sleeping. No matter what has gone wrong during the day, no matter how great the tantrums and transgressions, there is no wrong that could not be made right by the sight of a little boy sound asleep in his footie pajamas. The gentle snoring. The fluttering of dreaming eyelashes. The satin blanket balled into his dimpled, baby-boy fist. The smell of Johnson\u2019s baby shampoo from his bedtime bath. Or almost as endearing, the salty scent of sleeping baby sweat. The rosy pink cheeks did me in every time.<\/p>\n\n\n<p>I came to move them from the couch to the floor, and as I always did, I stopped to breathe them in. I leaned close to Tyler, bringing my nose close to breathe his baby air and to feel his feathery breath on my cheek. And suddenly, the scent of his clean hair, coupled with his little blue footie pajamas\u2014the ones he now wore day in and day out\u2014it all multiplied and compounded and washed over me in a wave of grief that took my breath away. My breath poured out of me in a long, silent, heaving sob. It emptied me so completely that I knew my recovering intake of breath would be enough to wake them. I was out of control, swept over the edge of the facade of holding it together. I grabbed at the blanket, and I stuffed it into my mouth just as the sob climbed on top of me. It was roaring. I rode this wave of grief, rocking myself as I wept silently into the blanket with one hand, my other hand hovering over the steady rise and fall of Tyler\u2019s back as he slept. I wanted to soothe him, or maybe I wanted to protect him from the reality he could not yet understand.<\/p>\n\n\n<p>I remember thinking, <em>My God, what have you done to us? What have you done to my family? To my sons? My babies? You took away their father! What were you thinking? What have you done, dear God?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n<p>I didn\u2019t move them from the pull-out couch because what was the point, really? I let them stay. I went back upstairs to a corner of the couch in the sunken living room. I opened my journal for the first time since Robb died.<\/p>\n\n\n<p>I wrote,<\/p>\n\n\n<blockquote class=\"wp-block-quote\"><p><em>Okay. I am here. Let\u2019s talk. I want to believe you are good. I want to trust you. But everything is wrong. And you could have kept all of this from happening. I want to believe you are in this. I want to trust you. So we have to be honest with each other. And honestly, I don\u2019t know where you are. And I don\u2019t know why you thought this was a good idea.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n<p>I started with honesty. I wrote it all down. And I sat in the tension of pouring it all out to a void of silence, knowing no answers would come right away, maybe not for a very, very long time. But I knew that my honesty was not nothing. Honesty was all I felt I had, the only offering I could give.<\/p>\n\n\n<p>Poured out, I closed my journal, and I went back downstairs to that pull-out couch. I crawled in between the little boy in the footie pajamas and his brother dressed like Buzz Lightyear. I fell asleep to the silence of their innocent breaths, the deep rest of children who trust.<\/p>\n\n\n<hr class=\"wp-block-separator\" \/>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-coblocks-author\"><figure class=\"wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar\"><img class=\"wp-block-coblocks-author__avatar-img\" src=\"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/sites\/thedisciplemaker\/wp-content\/uploads\/WILLIFORD-Author-Photo-bordered.png\" alt=\"Tricia Lott Williford\" \/><\/figure><div class=\"wp-block-coblocks-author__content\"><span class=\"wp-block-coblocks-author__name\">Tricia Lott Williford<\/span><p class=\"wp-block-coblocks-author__biography\">You&#8217;ve been reading with <a rel=\"noreferrer noopener\" href=\"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/sites\/thedisciplemaker\/tag\/tricia-lott-williford\/\" target=\"_blank\"><strong>Tricia Lott Williford<\/strong><\/a>, author of\u00a0<a rel=\"noreferrer noopener\" href=\"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/p\/you-can-do-this\/9781631467462\" target=\"_blank\"><strong><em>You Can Do This<\/em><\/strong><\/a> and\u00a0<a rel=\"noreferrer noopener\" href=\"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/p\/just-you-wait\/9781631467509\" target=\"_blank\"><strong><em>Just. You. Wait<\/em>.<\/strong><\/a> This post originally appeared on the <a rel=\"noreferrer noopener\" href=\"https:\/\/www.tricialottwilliford.com\/2019\/05\/springtime-snow-and-sad-days\/\" target=\"_blank\"><strong>author&#8217;s blog<\/strong><\/a>. Follow the links above to engage further or read the first chapters for free.<\/p>\n<div class=\"wp-block-button\"><a class=\"wp-block-button__link\" href=\"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/sites\/thedisciplemaker\/tag\/tricia-lott-williford\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noreferrer noopener\">More from Tricia<\/a><\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n<figure class=\"wp-block-image is-resized\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/search?keyword=tricia+lott+williford\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\"><img loading=\"lazy\" src=\"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/sites\/thedisciplemaker\/wp-content\/uploads\/WILLIFORD-3D-Covers-300x211.png\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-7479\" width=\"719\" height=\"506\" \/><\/a><\/figure>\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>My husband, Robb had been gone for maybe two weeks when my young boys and I packed up for a trip back to Ohio. I moved to Colorado in my early twenties, and my soul took root right away. My &#8230; <\/p>\n<p class=\"read-more-container\"><a title=\"Waiting and Grieving with Honesty\" class=\"read-more button\" href=\"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/sites\/thedisciplemaker\/2020\/05\/waiting-and-grieving-with-honesty\/#more-8352\">Read more<span class=\"screen-reader-text\">Waiting and Grieving with Honesty<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":12,"featured_media":8354,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_coblocks_attr":"","_coblocks_dimensions":"","_coblocks_responsive_height":"","_coblocks_accordion_ie_support":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_caption":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_nocaption":"","_FSMCFIC_featured_image_hide":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[243,303,534,556,571],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v20.6 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>Waiting and Grieving with Honesty - The Disciplemaker<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.navpress.com\/sites\/thedisciplemaker\/2020\/05\/waiting-and-grieving-with-honesty\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Waiting and Grieving with Honesty - The Disciplemaker\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"My husband, Robb had been gone for maybe two weeks when my young boys and I packed up for a trip back to Ohio. I moved to Colorado in my early twenties, and my soul took root right away. My ... 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