i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing, my darling)
 

i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

 

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

-ee Cummings

70 blog posts and 365 days later and I am not sure there are many words left to write.  I believe {hope} that I have squeezed and wrung out every ounce of Richard's soul that I possibly could.  Today I have spent time sitting, reflecting and re-reading every piece of encouragement I have received over this year.  I have read, re-read and practically memorized the words that Rich wrote me, hoping to truly soak up the genuine way he loved and cared about me so that it will not be forgotten.  

I began writing this blog, back in January, for several reasons:

To cope.
To openly talk about my grieving process in hopes that people will realize that maybe what they are personally going through isn't so crazy after all.
To share what God has taught me as He has worked through my heart during this traumatic season.
To spread hope.
To give a place to list out all of the lessons I have learned, all of the lessons God has unfolded before me.
To let the world know about a great man that captured my heart and soul; to show people who he had become at the end of his short life.
For God to use me as a device to show the world that it is okay to be broken and it is okay to talk about it and it is okay to admit it and work through it.
For others to understand that it is okay to be sad, to grieve, to not understand what God is doing; but it is important to try your best to continue to trust.

I hope, with my entire heart, that I was able to express these things.  I hope I shared enough about His grace in my life that others could locate the grace in their own lives if they had not already.  I hope that the world (this small world of blog readers) understood what can happen when God turns an incredibly difficult situation into something beautiful and that it is only by HIS doing that this can be achieved. 

So, in true dramatic and deadline-oriented fashion, I've decided that this blog post will be an ending of sorts.  This year will be something that I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life.  The year of firsts has been incredibly difficult, but incredibly rewarding.  And as much as I would love to write about Richard every day for the rest of my life, I know it's time to move forward, to let go (with the exception of continuing to write our story down.)  I am unsure if I will continue writing at this blog address or if I will create a new one.  I love times of newness.  Times to create a fresh space, a clean place to continue life.  Regardless, I will continue to write as it has now become a part of my character, something I do not want to see go.  And I have sweet Richard to thank for that.  Among the many other things he did for me, he continued to provide for me after his death; providing a way to heal and survive, from the inspiration of his own written word.

Thank you to you that have continued to read these ramblings month after month, no matter how sad they were - how sappy, depressing, confusing and repetitive the words may have been.  It's been the encouragement and support of friends, and strangers alike, that have helped get me to this place today.  Had you lovely people not sent me e-mails, letters, notes, facebook messages, tweets, left comments, read these words, etc - I would have stopped writing a long time ago.  So if I have, at all, helped one person, know that you all took part in that as well.  You have made an impact on more people than you can imagine.  Please know how appreciated you all are.

It is time to move forward to a new chapter, never forgetting the lessons picked up along the way, carrying sweet Richard's love in my heart as life continues on.  Life will never be the same again and I am eternally grateful. 

Love you sweet Rich.  Forever grateful for the impact you made on my life and for the legacy you left behind.  Missing you always.

 

A Last Love Letter.

For the last few days my head has been clear as ever and my heart beating me to sleep. That demonstrative thud that reminds me I'm full of love, not the hate that once flooded veins. 

I thank God for this as well as each breath that vacates my lungs. The crisp transformation of oxygen to vein to aortic tendency, God's delicate release. 

I hope you've found peace amongst chaotic times. These days have proven fortunate, the revealing thoughts I used to ask God for as a kid. When I was 9 I recall praying to Him every night for life to make sense. I was curious and wildly infatuated with the consistency of an answer, rather than asking the right questions. As of lately I've been so tied up with questions instead of allowing God to answer. 

Humility has brought me to my knees...and I love every bit of it. I love every bit of God. I love every bit of you. And luckily, today, I'm not playing for keeps. 

Each second I pray in hopes to fully turn over my shortcomings so I can be a device God uses to do his work. I hope he includes you in my journey. 

I love you. 

-R. Gaiser III

September 21st, 2012

Richard's words are so loud, so clear tonight. It's as if I can hear him reading them to me. Wise and precious words to live by and to forever cherish. 

Hope is Around the Corner for You.

I sat in my counselor's office this afternoon, partaking in my last appointment before the one year mark. 

She looked at me and said, well how are you feeling?

I said, I'm ready. I just feel ready. Ready to face the 11th and to end this year of "firsts."

Well you have done your work. You've done your grief work and you have worked hard. You committed an entire year and now hope is around the corner for you. You did good. 

She suggested I think of a verse for the my new year. Scripture to study and pray over for the entire year. She suggested Isaiah 40:31 and I told her I couldn't do that one because when I read it all I think about is Rev in "Remember the Titans" signing the part about soaring like wings of an eagle. 

The more I thought about it the more I focused on Psalm 46:4-5. I fell in love with it back in March at the cabin I am headed to this weekend. Makes perfect sense to choose it as my verse for the year.  

God is always preparing our hearts, friends. Grateful for His mercy and grace. 

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy place where the Most High dwells. God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.

Here We Are.

Here we are, folks.  The ultimate final stretch of the first year of grieving.  January 11th is now sitting in plain sight, refusing to be ignored or unseen.

I've had many distractions lately with holiday gatherings, trips to see family and dates with cute boys.  It has all been welcomed with open arms, but now the distraction dust has settled and I am ready to face this moment.  Reality hit me in the face in church today, as my sweet friend prayed over me and the week ahead.  Commence breakdown number one.  I foresee tears every day this week and I am okay with that.  I'm ready to dive head first into this last moment.

I'm finding the emotions, feelings and realities of sweet Richard's death are loud and clear as they've come flooding back into view.  It's like I'm back in the hospital with him all over again.  I can remember vivid details of every day of the week leading up to his death.

Sunday: the first day in almost two weeks that I slept in instead of getting there first thing in the morning.

Monday: the day I went to my doctor to talk about my emotional roller coaster.  I cried in her office and she suggested a low-dose antidepressant.

Tuesday: the day Richard got upset and offended because I made fun of the show we were watching.  The day I decided he wasn't a good patient.  Of course, we later apologized to one another, understanding his situation was making him incredibly cranky.

Wednesday: the day that sweet Richard felt all of the sudden better.  He showered on his own for the first time in weeks and had a new burst of energy.  The day he wanted to wear the watch I got him for Christmas and I told him we should wait until he got out.  He was only a little loopy on this day.

Thursday: the day he hallucinated on and off.  He'd wake up laughing, in mid conversation.  Who knows who he was talking to in his mind.  The day I cried and prayed over him while he slept.  The day he was diagnosed with leukemia.  The day he was moved to the oncology unit.  The day he had very little life in his eyes.

Friday: the day he was moved to critical care.  The day he was incoherent, on a ventilator, at least 5 pic lines coming out of his body.  The day he was on dialysis.  The last day I ever saw him.

Crying as I write this, I have to say that I am so glad the year is coming to a close.  I can't believe it's here.  I can't believe it's been an entire year.

I anticipate a hard week, but I know that I will be covered in prayer and love by the precious people the good Lord has placed in my life.  I continually stand in awe at the people he's placed around me.

I anticipate an emotional week that will be wrapped up in a last minute trip to the mountains with two precious friends.  A soul vacation is what we will call it.

Richard and I spent a lot of our short time together hiking in the mountains.  I feel a retreat to a cabin is the perfect place to end this year.  A time of quiet, prayer and rest.

I can't wait.

But Who Has Rich?

It was 5 days before Richard's birthday when I answered the phone to a familiar voice on the other end, telling me that he had something he wanted to give me.  It was one of Richard's old AA sponsors.  A man that I have gotten to know since his death and a man that I have found comfort in.

Would I be able to meet him on Friday?  Yes, of course, I said.

"My dad's birthday is also the 16th and every year I make a chocolate fudge cake.  This year I thought I would make two and I wanted to give it to you."

Yes, I'd love that!

We came up with a place to meet on the Friday before Richard's birthday.  After some miscommunication and re-communicating, I met up with him on Friday night.

He handed me a massive chocolate fudge cake.  "Your mission," he said, "should you choose to accept it, is to eat through the entire cake and see what is on the bottom of it."

Oh, okay!  Absolutely.  I mean I can't eat the whole thing, but I'll see what I can do.

We talked a little more, and caught up a bit.  And then he proceeded to tell me some of the most beautiful advice I had ever heard.

"We have a saying in AA, you know, and that is 'let go and let God.'  It's okay to let go.  Remember in the movie Titanic and they show Rose at the end of the movie and how she had gone on to create a beautiful life.  It's okay to let go."

Yes, yes, I said as I laughed.  I'm just so ready to get through the year.

And then he said, "I know.  But who has Rich?"

God, I said meekly.

"And who has you?"

God, I said as I began to cry.

"Yes, so, really, you guys are not that far from each other."

(SWOON)

We wrapped up and said goodbyes.  I proceeded to walk to my car and as soon as the door shut I proceeded to SOB.  I'm talking UGLY CRYING, Y'ALL.  It lasted for a solid 30 minutes.  It was such a beautiful moment and it made my heart ache in the most beautiful way.


By the next night I had given enough of the cake away (which was freaking delicious by the way) and cut the rest of it up into squares.  I needed to know what was on the bottom.

Assuming it was candy or something else baked into the cake, I kept searching in the actual fudge.  Finally I realized that what was on the bottom WAS ACTUALLY ON THE BOTTOM.  It was what the cake was on.  I unwrapped layers of aluminum foil and cardboard to find a canvas.

I flipped the canvas over to find the most gorgeous painting.  AND IT WAS A PAINTING OF RICHARD AND I.  And it is accurate, y'all.  It's detailed and serene and just damn beautiful.

Commence breakdown number two.  A lovely, genuine, thoughtful gift that will be cherished forever.

I have officially learned more about living out God's love and grace from recovering alcoholics than I have from any church sermon.  What a beautiful way He communicates his love to us, through angels on Earth.

R - you're an absolute gem.  Thank you for your constant love and care.  Rich would be so grateful and would expect nothing less.  PS - I've been asked for the fudge cake recipe. :)

A Joyful, Grieving Heart.

My heart has been heavy lately.  Heavy with sadness and grief and the weight of others' burdens.  My personality is one that drips with empathy; it's who I have always been. 

It gets really annoying.

Sometimes I just want to flit and float around and pretend like nothing is wrong with anyone.  I just want to feel light and free.  However, often times I feel exactly the opposite.  But it is who the Lord made me so I continue to embrace it and figure out how to use it and when I can't figure it out I just pray through it all.

This morning I prayed for the Lord to continue to show me how to have a joyful AND grieving heart.  Seems impossible to me.  It's been hard for me to figure out lately; it's a confusing things longing to be joyful, yet carrying around so much sadness for others. 

This afternoon he gave me a little reminder via Ann Voskamp's Advent book, The Greatest Gift.

"In the press of a dark world, laughter comes to the Sarahs (see Genesis 21:1-7) and the sufferers and the stressed as the reliever and then the reminder - that ache is not the last word for those who believe in God.  Jesus is.  Jesus is the last word, and we rejoice and rejoice again and re-joy again because grace is our oxygen now."

Ache is not the last word for those who believe in God.

Beautiful.

We must remember what our end goal is.  Who our end goal is.  We must trudge forward and bring the joy of the Lord to all who surround us.  Even with a grieving heart we can laugh and share the joy of a Savior that came in the form of a teensie little baby.  We need not be fake about our emotional state.  We must cry when we want to cry and laugh when we want to laugh, and rejoice in the fact that Jesus is the last word. 

Last week I cried almost everyday.  We are nearing the end, friends.  Only about 5 weeks left until the 1 year anniversary of sweet Richard's death.  I am so ready for the one year to be over, but I continue to pray for a joyful, grieving heart. 

Sarah said, “God has brought me laughter, and everyone who hears about this will laugh with me.” And she added, “Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would nurse children? Yet I have borne him a son in his old age.”

-Genesis 21:6-7

 



Issues with Santa.

Santa’s Village & Memories - Shattered Magazine 

https://www.shatteredmagazine.net/santas-village-memories/