John Coulombe gave me The Ledger to read, and I felt it so real and poignant for anyone who has said a final farewell to their best friend. I asked the author for permission to share it with my readers. When Peggy Campbell agreed, she said, “While my husband has been gone 20 years now, I still have the feeling on Saturday afternoon that the rest of the world is going to enjoy dinner out that evening … but I won’t. Of course, that’s FAR from realistic, but Saturday evenings remain melancholic. Not long after Jon died, I was out on errands on a glorious SoCal day and thought—why don’t I have that sense of exhilaration that such weather typically evokes? Then I thought … “I have already lived the best day of my life” (I’ve learned better since) —no wonder I felt like a kid called in at dusk peering out the window as the rest of the neighborhood gang is out playing hide-and-seek. 

—Peggy

 

The LEDGER:

Greetings to a list I’ve not used “corporately” in a long while — nearly a year, in fact. Forgive the “group speak” but I felt it might be appropriate to put the bookend to the twelve months marked today.

I would have to say in the deepest part of my soul, I still am the deer in the headlights, blinking, trying to grasp “what just happened here.”  I’ve told friends that in many ways I feel like the full-tilt runner who hit a wall and is now reeling, trying to regain footing … or the swimmer in a broiling sea, hit by wave after wave — glub, glub, glub.

If I am “doing well” (according to some), I truly believe in some measure it is because I simply remain stunned. This just can’t be real.  I don’t touch some parts of the home because I think deep inside I’m actually convinced … but what if Jon comes back?! 

Not too long ago, the thought struck me that what this year has mostly focused on is … balance.

Looking back vs looking forward … grieving vs laughing … all about me vs none about me … it has been a continual contemplation and a prayerful petition that God would help me juggle the reality — what I desperately covet is knowing how to maintain equilibrium in the midst of being completely turned upside down and inside out.

That got me “thinking”  (probably the lack of doing trivia quizzes for a year that prompts the “listing” mentality).

So, here’s what may best summarize my first year as a widow [what — did I just say that about ME?!]

I’ve lost my comfort zone.

I’ve gained 15 pounds; ugh.

I’ve lost sharing any new experience with the one I loved most sharing any experience with.

I’ve gained sharing many new experiences with family and friends … carrying (not) “coals to Newcastle” for the dedication of the Africa Mercy being a significant spiritual highlight.

I’ve lost anticipating the future.

I’ve gained anticipating the Future.

I’ve lost the ability to exult in any occasion in complete joy — a “film” has sort of dropped over even the most “golden” moments.

I’ve gained a deeper appreciation for the simplest joys — a dog that wags her tail when I just look at her, the sound of the fountain (that we bought on Valentine’s 04), days at Sunriver, glorious full moon rising …

I’ve lost friends — or were they?

I’ve gained friends — and are they!

I’ve lost the utter weariness that comes with the intensity of battle — Jon was a champion!

I’ve gained the peace that comes with knowing the battle is done — and the victory is won.

I’ve lost eating out whenever I want (haven’t yet mastered sitting solo at a table).

I’ve gained knowing every good restaurant with take-out and parking for those who do :-)!

I’ve lost the “live and in person” depth of — the green of Jon’s eyes, the fragrance after he shaved, the sound of his spontaneous laughter in the office down the hall …

I’ve gained gratitude for a few voicemails I saved (despite the catastrophic day I lost all those on my cellphone), photos in 34 years of albums, any shred of paper with his handwriting …

I’ve lost the responsibility and accountability that comes with a life partner.

I’ve gained the freedom that comes knowing there is absolutely no one who will care if I buy this book at Barnes & Noble.

I’ve lost being able to laugh heartily, without a sliver of a shadow, a twinge of sadness.

I’ve gained being able to laugh at myself — six months of wondering why the new vacuum didn’t work so great then realizing I’d failed to pull off the cellophane covering the “SELF-PROPEL” switch :-)!

I’ve lost the reason to save everything.

I’ve gained (ok, it’s in process) less clutter.

I’ve lost confidence … there’s nothing for self-esteem like a husband who tells you “You look beautiful” every morning.

I’ve gained confidence … I learned how to BBQ this year!

I lost my best friend.

I gained … mmm, nope.  Can’t think of anything that remotely comes close to being a worthy entry on the counter-side of this ledger item.

I’ve lost my equilibrium for life.

I’ve gained the ability to roll with the punches … I wonder if Jon would recognize the person who barely gets upset at anything anymore — and why would you once the worst life might bring has actually transpired.  Yeah, I’ve gained perspective.

I’ve lost my anchor — what I wouldn’t give to hear Jon just once more whisper to me, “All is well, P, all is well.”

I’ve gained what undoubtedly you seized long before I did … in this life there just isn’t any substitute for the Solid Rock — that’s my newly and far more fully-understood “address” … standing on it as I do.

What is bad — hard?  The fact that the word “never”  applies to too much of life now.   Gray-haired hand-holding couples (I might have to switch from my Presbyterian church) — I’ll never know Jon with a full head of gray hair :-).  News about anything that I know Jon would have loved — a sports item, a new movie, an interesting article — no one to tell “something” to the person I know will appreciate that I thought of him for telling it!  “Never again,” “the last,” “no more” … too many phrases that have a new “reality.”  It’s just so dang … final.

What is good? Knowing that I have a terrific family, wonderful circle of friends, fulfilling work, safe harbor at home … assurance that no matter the fact that all that’s transpired since January 05 was utterly unlike the script I foresaw for our life … I still believe in God’s sovereignty and trust that what has happened was His best for Jon, for me.  All I ask is the grace to be “ever alert” and miss not one shred of what His “in-this-world” transparent intent is for it all.

Thanks for being on the life-path with us, with me … it is definitely part of what I see as God’s grace and gift. This year, I am reminding myself of that with Lamentations 3:21-26.

Now, onward.  Yes, even upward!

—Peggy Campbell

    Irvine, California

(Thank you, Peggy. The Ledger is a special reflection for me, too. Like you, I still believe in God’s sovereignty and trust that what has happened is his best for Dixie, for me. Today, August 4, is the 10th anniversary of daily reminding my truest love and best friend that I miss her.)

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Lamentations 3:21- (NIV)

21

Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:

22

Because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.

23

They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

24

I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion;
therefore, I will wait for him.”

25

The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;

26

it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the Lord.

 

 

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Coming Soon:

We often think of telling our faith story as something formal, structured, or even intimidating. But what if sharing Jesus this Christmas could be as simple as inviting someone over, lighting a candle, and starting a conversation?

That’s the Light a Candle heartbeat: helping you create warm, welcoming spaces to encounter Christ anew—whether with longtime believers or those who are just beginning to ask spiritual questions.

Light a Candle is where truth and imagination meet in the interactive story of a small-town girl named Mary, who became the mother of Jesus, the Son of God.

Until the next time—may Jesus always keep us close.

 

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