It Doesn't Get Easier, But God Stays Through It All~ ⋆ Stacy L. Sanchez

He would have gotten it.
He would have totally understood.

In fact, 
if he had been there,
he would have been able
to see it coming
and to have predicted
my reaction.

Standing in the pasta aisle
at a local grocery store,
I was trying to find 
a "healthy" pasta alternative
for my mother,
when my eyes spotted it.

A box of spinach fettucine.

Before I could even 
truly focus my eyes
or my attention
on what I was seeing,
my heart -
leaps and bounds
ahead of the rest of me -
was already undone.

Early on in our dating years,
knowing second only 
to Mexican cuisine,
Italian was my favorite,
my husband had taken me
to the only 
teeny, tiny Italian restaurant 
in our tiny town -
at that time, at least,
for my birthday,

The owner, the cook,
and sometimes, 
even the waitress - 
a sweet older Italian lady
named Angelina.

Our choice 
off the menu that evening,
spinach fettucine.
Delicious!

So delicious, in fact,
that while tasting
all the different flavors 
blended together
in one amazing dish
that evening,
we had decided 
this was a meal
we could try 
to make together.

But that special evening
was also one of those
priceless moments when -
through conversation
and the opening of our hearts, -
we started to
discover each other 
deeper and fonder
and decided 
maybe, just maybe,
we could take
all the different of him
and all the different of me
and try and blend us
all up in 
a life together, too.

Maybe? 

The food.
The conversation.
The night.
The moment.
All precious.

So today,
standing in the aisle,
seeing the box
of spinach fettucine, -
my man would have
called my response 
way before it happened -
and he would have been
spot on.

Nothing but tears.

And honestly,
there wasn't 
a thing in this world
I could do
to stop them.

And I thought back
to the month
right after losing my man -
when not knowing 
how death might affect
one's tax return,
I found myself
sitting at our local civic center,
waiting to get help
through a free tax preparation service
provided by retired people
in our community.

When my turn came,
and I went up to the table
to register,
upon hearing I was a widow,
the lady signing me in
stopped,
put down her pen,
looked me right in the eye
and said,
"Oh honey, I'm so sorry.
It never gets easier."

I could tell by the 
look in her eye,
these weren't just words
she was saying.
This  -
this was a cold, hard fact,
and she was 
simply doing her best 
to prepare me.

I was quickly called back
to another room,
to another table,
and to another elderly person,
who also -
upon hearing I was a widow, -
put down his pen,
took off his glasses,
leaned forward in my direction,
looked me square in the eyes
and said,
"I'm so sorry, Miss. 
It never gets easier."

After he had completed 
my taxes,
he called over another tax preparer 
to check his work.
Upon reading the word
widow 
on my tax form,
she, too,
gave me her full attention
and echoed 
what had already been said - 
not once, 
but twice before.
"I am so very sorry to hear of your loss.
It never gets any easier."

I walked out of there
that day
with my taxes filed
and two important observations:

1. It must not ever get any easier.
2. You can survive because these people somehow were.

Standing in the grocery aisle,
today,
five years later,
I know both to be true.

It doesn't get any easier.
In fact, truth be told 
(and I'm so glad 
no one told me 
this truth then),
I think 
in so many ways,
it gets harder.

But, 
(and I don't know how without),
with God,
you can and will survive.

I'm proof.

And in a round about way,
just like my husband
and I had decided
to step into the kitchen
and into life together,
side by side -
when I lost my man,
I decided seconds
after he took his last breath -
to step into grief
side by side with God
and make the most
of all that it would bring.

The "ingredients" of grief -
just like the spinach fettucine -
(onions - I'm not a fan,
garlic - on it's own, no thank you)
and just like marriage -
(selflessness - uh, ouch, 
for worse, not only better - not so much)
haven't always been 
easy to stomach 
on their own,
but mixed together
with the memories,
tossed around with 
thanksgiving for 
what was,
surprisingly, 
grief 
(actually the discovery
of God in the midst of it)
has become
a precious meal
that has 
nourished and sustained me,
even grown me,
over the years.

As I wiped 
one tear after another,
my heart could almost
hear the tender voice
of my precious husband.
"Oh, Beautiful. I know.
I know, Baby."

And, if he had 
been standing beside me,
I know that I know I know,
there would have been
tears in his eyes, too

Tears of "I love you so much,"
Tears of "Didn't we have the best, Baby?"
Tears of "I'll never forget that date."
Tears of "Thank God for us!"
Tears of "I'm so proud of you, Beautiful,"
Tears of "I'm sorry."
Tears of "I get it, Baby,"

And, I have a feeling,
God, Himself,
might also have 
shed some tears with me
today, too.

Because even more than
my handsome honey,
my Father God gets me.
My Abba Father understands.

And, 
He. Is. Here.

Always.

No, it doesn't get any easier.
But, with God,
we can and we will survive.

And, 
more than that,
if we give God 
the opportunity
to walk it out with us,
side by side,
day by day,
moment by moment -
even loss,
even grief,
even the hardest place of our life
can be
precious.

It can be beautiful.

It can be 
a deeper and fonder 
discovering
of ourself (yes)
and God (most definitely).

Yes, he would have gotten it.
He would have totally understood.
And that's what made
it so very precious.

The fact that 
my God 
knows,
and is in it with me -
still,
precious indeed.

~Stacy