January Memories, Part I

It was two years ago when my mother-in-law, Mary Mozena-Hough entered eternity. January 21. She was loved very much by her eight children— nieces, nephews, husband, and many friends. Here in the United States, but also in England and Ireland, the place of her birth. I was only able to meet her a couple of times before she died, but I could tell she was full of wit and energy when she grabbed my hand and did a jig with me the first time we met. I’m told she loved to dance and perform—and she did nearly all of her life. I didn’t know her well, but I know her children—and especially her third born, my Jim—all who are a reflection of parts of her character. Yesterday afternoon, she was remembered. There  was a church service, an English/Irish Tea afterwards where memories were recalled and toasts given in honor of her life. It’s good to remember those who are no longer with us. 

It was ten years ago when I had to face the frightful fact that my husband of forty years might not live much longer. There were neurosurgeons puzzling over his condition. I was brave and tried to be strong—at least on the outside. How would I live without the man who’s name I’d had for longer than my own family name? How would I be able to face life without him by my side? We’d married young—and grew up together, really. We had two children and raised them. There was a stillborn baby girl we mourned over together. We climbed mountains and rocks. Hiked together more miles than I can count.

Bill loved the outdoors

Bill died in the early morning hours of February 3rd. We came home and went to bed, for there was nothing else to do.  After resting in bed for a few hours, I was awakened by a robin chirping cheerfully. My first thought was delight—the robins were back! And then I remembered. My dearest was gone. 

 I knew I couldn’t do it alone and I cried out to God, my Savior, my Comforter, my All, to help me. He was there. He understood. I still grieved. But I had hope. I knew I’d see Bill again in Heaven, for he trusted Jesus as his Savior. But I missed him. My house was empty without him there. I worked through those lonely months.

One Psalm was particularly comforting to me:

For You are my hope, O Lord God;

You are my trust from my youth.

By You I have been upheld from birth;

You are He who took me out of my mother’s womb.

My praise shall be continually in You. (Psalm 71:4-5)

Those words helped me know I would get through this dark time, for my hope was in God, not my situation.

I kept busy. The long dark evenings began to stay light for longer periods of time. I found pussy willows that told me spring was coming just as the robins announced it that first morning without Bill.

I thought I’d be in that grief state forever. That I’d feel that terrible knotty, sadness for the rest of my life. I wouldn’t have believed it then, but I found love again. But that’s another story for a different blog. 

 During those early days, instead of being so desperately sad, I began to be thankful for the life Bill and I’d had together. I was thankful that our earlier struggles in our marriage were worked out. And how we learned to love and respect each other. I’m so glad we learned our lessons well and were able to emerge from the difficulties into a new and better relationship.

It’s hard to say goodbye to your soulmate, or child, or parent. It might be hard to say goodbye to something else: health, a career, a home; there’s grief and loss in many facets of our life.  

I’ve been wandering through some of the photos from ten years ago—and before that and it brought some sadness, yet I have hope and I remember that Psalm which is worth repeating: 

For You are my hope, O Lord God;

You are my trust from my youth.

By You I have been upheld from birth;

You are He who took me out of my mother's womb.

My praise shall continually be in You.