Tonight at church a friend shared of his need for an upcoming surgical procedure to control pain associated with years of chronic back pain. He shared of his need for a pain pump. I remember Mark’s use of the pain pump and how wonderfully it eased his pain. I pray and hope my friend can find the freedom from his pain.

Wouldn’t it be great if freedom from emotional pain came with the push of a button? Maybe then the tears would never drip any further than my nose. By the time the tear streaks dried, the pain would lessen and happy thoughts would return. Unfortunately, reality prevails and the tears continually ram against the dam. Many times the stalwart dam breaks and tears fall at inopportune times. Today was just such a day.

The overwhelming responsibility of taking care of the needs of my children, home and work have worn down my reserves. I know all the right words to tell my heart but they feel so empty. I have cracked the nut’s shell only to find the walnut missing.

Please continue to pray for my family. Every day is a new day per chance to enjoy a nut.

Last year Mark ordered roses from a well know catalog company. The although the catalog extolled of the individual flower’s unique beauty and aroma, I was sorely disappointed when I opened the cardboard box to find the ugliest bunch of stems. I am not sure what I had expected but this lifeless looking twig looked like it belonged more in my firewood pile than in my garden. Unfortunately, I can identify with that ugly twig.

At one time in life our family rose bush flourished. Bright red aromatic blooms rising from long stalks covered the bush. Friends stopped by to enjoy the bush’s beauty. The roses entertained its visitors and welcomed all who entered into its presence.

With Mark’s passing I feel as though our roses have been torn from the bush leaving only ugly mangled stems. The velvety rose petals lay strewn across the garden. Sap weeps from between the jagged edges of the stems.

(to be continued; too tired tonight)

Sundays pose the most difficult of days for me. My vulnerability before the Lord tenders a heart haggard from the trials of the week. Tuesday I returned to work. Wednesday I signed the children up for Social Security. My tears poured all over the sweet lady behind the desk. I tried to sleep my way through Thursday and Friday. A mountain of clothes piled on the laundry room floor. Dog hair had collected in the corners of the back hallway. I could muster enough energy to shed a few tears but not enough energy to tackle the mounting chores alone.

This morning I searched for Mark’s name on the healing prayer list. Why? Did I hope his name would still be listed? I am not sure what I expected to find. His name was not listed for he has already received his healing. Later, I wanted to write our family’s name on a prayer request card. My heart cried out, “Please don’t forget us.” Mark’s pain has ended but our pain runs swift and deep like a powerful river wedged between high canyon walls. We endure many rapids and yearn for the wide open river plains. Our bodies may not require a physical healing but the roil of emotions wreaks havoc on our spirit.

Today we celebrated Mark Jr.’s 21st birthday. Katie and Dad’s seat sat empty at the dining room table. Work prevented Katie from making the trip back to Pikeville. Mark Dixon requested one of his favorite meals, white wine chicken and rice. Normally, Mark and I would have worked side by side in the kitchen. I managed to pull the dinner together including the baking of a chocolate/cherry cake. Mark delighted in all things baked with sugar. In 22 years of marriage I have probably baked only 22 cakes, one for each of his birthdays.

The kids and I laughed and enjoyed memories of Dad. Although recent memories were jaded by the sickness of cancer, the children still managed to pull out funny stories and precious recollections. We talked of Mark Dixon and Randee’s wedding and of how well Mark looked and sounded. We laughed at pictures of Mark wearing his ball shorts, bright purple polo and black dress socks with slippers. Chris retold stories of Mark under the effect of the anesthesia. She had him down to a T. I wept as we watched a DVD from the wedding. Mark looked so handsome even without his trademark curls.

I witnessed hope in action tonight. Hope in laughter. Hope in tears. Hope will see us through the rest of September. Hope will journey with us through the coming holidays. Hope will take us through this next year.

Please do not forget our need for your prayers. Many times I think I can almost reach out to touch them, almost like they have form and shape. I thank you for seeing us through this difficult time.