When Time is a Curse and Not a Blessing

(49) Journal Entry: June 27, 2017


I read the following excerpt in a blog post (I believe it was Kara Tippett, but did not record the whereabouts to give appropriate credit…):

“She knew I would not give her her way, but she knew something else–that maybe just time in my arms would lessen the hold that want had on her. She knew that quietly rocking next to my heart would soften her heart in a way nothing else could.”

And later:

“So, as I rock my sweet loves, tears stream down my face, and I beg for the sweet grace to be present in that moment. I pray I could capture in the sweetness that it holds without the suffocating fear of not having the future moments.”

My struggle is with time.

Time in the distance seems suffocating.

Time without him here.

Times of longing for a former time.


If I drift back, or look forward, I feel the depth of loss and sorrow. I know I only have this moment in time, right here, right now.

If I could only allow the arms of my eternal Father to comfort me in my struggle with my finite hurt.

“Lord help me look no further then right now. Help me feel your comfort, allow your rest, enjoy this present moment for what it is.”

Today, I pick up a dear friend in Austin. Our plan is a quick trip to Waco, before settling into a hotel in Austin for the night. The thought consumes me with anxiety over not being home–with him. When she says I can bring Bill with me, and that she understands as she brought her dog’s ashes with her a long time after her death.

The idea settles me. I smile. Yes, he can come along in my suitcase.

Maybe this is more monumental then just ashes accompanying me on a short trip north. Maybe he will always accompany along in my heart–into tomorrow, and the rest of my days.

I find comfort in this.

My husband and best friend, Bill Barone, passed away from a long fight against cancer on April 29, 2017, at precisely 4:29am. The disease temporarily won out here on this planet, but since his ultimate residence is in Heaven, I am certain he won out.  These writings are a year-long commitment to find my way out of the darkness from his departure. 
Each entry is marked with a day and a date.  The first official entry was on May 9, 2017. 

God Gave Me Someone


I sit here in a hotel room this morning “cleaning up” a mess on my laptop, and happen upon this writing of the day Bill left us, tucked away in a file folder.

April 29, 2017

I make it through the first day in small increments.

I attempt to push away his face from my mind, the moments before, and all the details that accompany the official death.  But, I can’t. I feel exposed. Raw. People entering my home without invitation, as if I were a criminal. I know this is procedure, and not the people, but the police are callus to my condition, with the exception of one kindhearted woman.

I am so heartbroken I feel like I want to die. Not really die, but the weight of heaviness hurts my insides so badly I just want out of the pain before me.

The adrenaline refuses to relinquish its right to my system, I down a glass of wine in hope to numb it down. I sit in the bathtub, pulling out every kind of trick in my fall asleep bag to enter slumber to escape the hurt. Right before drifting off, I cry out a faint petetion to God,

God, give me something.

Not a couple minutes later, the door to my bathroom opens and Ky emerges. For real? (So one doesn’t have an unnecessary mental picture, there were bubbles involved to act as a partial covering to my nakedness.)

She informs me there are two women at the door who want to pray with me.

I feel my blood boil. I am near sleep and someone decides to come over today of all days?

I tell her that she should go and pray with them. She leaves. I close my eyes again. Not another minute later, Tay enters and asks who the two people are that are walking to the car.

I tell her to go fetch them before they leave, and I get out, dry off, and put my grungy attire back on. I walk out in the other room and see the familiar face of one of the ladies.

Apparently, she had no idea that Bill had passed, but had a strong sense that God wanted her to come over to pray. I tell her it was too late for that.

She wonders if they can pray with us. Of course. I ask if we can pray in the bedroom, telling them of the difficulty being in there, especially since the hospital bed sits in the corner, naked of its bedding that we disposed of in large garbage bags and tossed in the trash. The steel frame sits there, glaring at me.

They annoint us with oil and speak wonderful words into our parched spirits.

I thank her as a realization occurs: I specifically asked for something from God.

And He gave me someone.

I can breathe again.

Hours before he left us, I clipped a small part of hair at his widow’s peak. It was my favorite spot. How fitting to have a name such as this. I hold this small lock and rub it as one would a rabbit foot, and a quirky smile formulates, and I wonder, if maybe even for one moment, I will be okay.


My husband and best friend, Bill Barone, passed away from a long fight against cancer on April 29, 2017, at precisely 4:29am. The disease temporarily won out here on this planet, but since his ultimate residence is in Heaven, I am certain he won out.  These writings are a year-long commitment to find my way out of the darkness from his departure. 
Each entry is marked with a day and a date.  The first official entry was on May 9, 2017. 

Finding Strength

(2) Journal Entry: May 11, 2017

Yesterday, Bill’s boss said a coworker commented that I was the strongest person he had met. I remarked, “hardly.” It could have been the after-shock of his death had still not registered beyond the surface, to the turmoil underneath.

I don’t feel strong at all.

I took a t-shirt last night and used it as a pillowcase to breathe him in. Laying beside this inanimate object that has the faintest scent of his nearness, it comforts me. Striving for intimacy from cotton–how’s that for strength?

“Where are you God?  Your intimacy feels absent right now.”

Today’s reading is from the Job on his heartbreak leaving him bare, “Naked from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord.” Job 1:21

Maybe, just maybe, He’s right here with me. I just am not feeling His Presence at the moment.

This is my prayer:

“Either way, I know that You are near to the heartbroken. Keep me from breaking please. I want to bless You through burdens, trials–even in times of silence. I love you Lord. I don’t understand why Bill, why now. But I know he is with You now. Near.”

Maybe I am not as weak as I feel.


(Day Five) Entry:  May 14, 2017

The last time I touched your cheek, before they asked me to leave the bedroom and took you away, I felt the cold set in.

The heat had already left your body.

We brought you home today, your remains that is. I rub the box as if you feel my touch. I know you are not really there, but in reality, you are. It comforts the deep longing to have you near.


I look at the warmth of the fireplace insert as I watch TV, sitting in the chair next to the one you used to reside. The insert you gave me on our last anniversary together was to replace the one the former homeowner pleaded to keep, as it was a remembrance of her dead husband.

I ache so deeply. Last night I cried uncontrollably as I lay on the bed. It may have been the three glasses of wine that released the pent-up emotional toll underneath. I don’t know.

I miss your touch.

Everything reminds me of you. Your loud clap, that would last seconds after the last one clapping, would cause my head to cower in slight embarrassment. This morning I longed to be brought head-low by your performance. Instead my head bends at the grief of your passing.

Two weeks, plus one day. When will I stop counting the days past and instead look forward to the days in front of me? And further still, to the day when I see your face in front of mine, and I slowly reach out and touch the warmth of your cheek?

My husband and best friend, Bill Barone, passed away from a long fight against cancer on April 29, 2017, at precisely 4:29am. The disease temporarily won out here on this planet, but since his ultimate residence is in Heaven, I am certain he won out.  These writings are a year-long commitment to find my way out of the darkness from his departure. 
Each entry is marked with a day and a date.  The first entry was on May 9, 2017. 

“God Please Give Me Something…”

Early on in our relationship, Bill would present me with fancy jewelry for a special occasion like a birthday or anniversary.  Usually his taste was a tad “blingy” and I would either return it for something less flashy, or it would make its way to a nice drawer for storage after an acceptable time of wear.

Over time he caught on and figured out my style, or lack thereof.

I prayed this morning a plea from my aching heart:

“God give me something from him…a word…something…please.”

This day has been unexpectedly difficult. I guess I thought since it wasn’t his birthday, I was going to be fine, instead, I have have been emotionally unprepared for the sadness that has risen to the surface to destroy any celebration.

How naive I am.

I know the upcoming anniversary in December is already met with sadness even though it is still a distance off on the calendar.  In prep I have a plan in place to battle the anticipated sadness.

But today, God, knowing I was going to struggle when I was clueless, met me on my path.


I spot the gold object near my feet as I jog along the shoulder of the road, trying to keep clear of oncoming morning traffic. At first glance I think it is a gold ribbon.

But taking a play from Moses and the burning bush, I turn and walk back for a closer look.

It is a gold chain.

I pick it up and investigate it for damage, wondering if someone accidentally lost this prized possession.  It is bent up in multiple places.

I unzip my handheld storage/water bottle to place it in there…

When I notice an inscription circling the entire necklace:



I look at the gaudy, gold object and smile. This would be something Bill would have eyed at a jewelry store, I am sure of it.

The message was exactly what I needed, convinced it was from Bill himself.

Thank you Lord.



Dreaming to Stay Alive

(Day Four) Entry: May 13, 2017

Oscar, AKA Bubba

“Bubba, we are going to dream today.” He looks aimlessly around, searching for the man who would sit in the kitchen chair every morning and give him a “love down”, that special rub-down from daddy to doggie.

Now he looks at me and sighs.

He will guide my dreams, and me. This morning while still in bed, I pondered the bigger decisions in life, like where to live and what to do with the rest of my life.

The first message arrives in my inbox–about how I am exactly where God wants me to be.

Yes, I am.

The second one is a post on grief, and dreaming–to continue to dream today.

Grief tries to kill my dream (writing a book) by saying it’s too soon to dream.

If I don’t dream, I’LL JUST DIE.

My passage today is the first couple chapters in Matthew.  It is all on dreams.

Multiple times, through dreams, both Joseph and Magi were directed and guided…

One step at a time
One day at a time

Moment by moment their dreams kept them alive, for if not for the dream, they would have died.


A Tangible Kiss from God

(Day Three) Entry: May 12, 2017

He is finally home. Yes, he is on the other side of eternity, but he is also here. Next to us. Actually, his remains will reside most often on his side of the bed. Since we’ve been together, he has wanted that side no matter the bedroom layout. So I give him his way. It is oddly comforting and slightly uncomfortable all the same.

I love you. I so love you.

I’ve accomplished more toady than I thought possible only days ago. Filing insurance claims for a vehicle and a person, phone calls, details. So overwhelmed at the onset of this week shifts slightly into a sense of accomplishment today.

Even the septic

The aerobic septic has caused me fear and worry before his death. Its alarms that have gone off in the dark of night when Bill would fix it. He’s not here to fix it anymore. Who will take care of me? Who will protect me?

I see in today’s passage the cause of the widow was not being addressed as people tended to their own concerns and left them helpless:

They do not bring justice to the fatherless, and the widow’s cause does not come to them.

God, You will defend my cause, You come near to the broken and weak.  This I know.

The other day I had to call many places to change the accounts from Bill, to me. Each were offered with condolences.

But one was like a tangible kiss from God.

I call the septic company (Lonestar Aerobic Services) and the lady on the other line walked me through the contract, which arrived in the mail days earlier. She tells me she will have an employee come out and walk me through each step so I am acquainted with the filthy contraption. Then, she does the unimaginable. She tells me to send the signed contract back to her and throw away the invoice.

What??? She says they will take care of me for the next year. It is their call to take care of the widows!

This little sentence accompanies the invoice:


I worry about the lack of communication from insurance companies, the lack of health insurance, the lack of understanding on issues foreign to me.

My lack.

You are my husband, my father. You know my lack and fear and are taking care of me. Always. Even though Bill is with you and not here, You are here.

You are near.

Here I am Lord. Help me. Let me be a help to my girls. I love you. When my chest heaves in grief, hold me close. Wipe away my snot. Let me collapse in your loving arms.

God, You are good all the time!


Spectacle of Glory



(Day 104)
Entry: August 21, 2017

Today your majesty will be displayed in a rare solar eclipse for many to witness and marvel at its wonder. For me, only a partial glimpse, and since I don’t have the necessary opticals to see such display without sorting my vision, I guess a quick glance will do.

Why do I need the miraculous to marvel? What I want even more than billboards of glory in the sky is Your intimacy by my side, and for my girls to witness and look upon You with desire and delight, in a personal way.

Last night I crumbled, really had no filter to manage the pouring of tears, they just came, choking, breaking through barriers like a ravaging tsunami hitting a serine shoreline. I couldn’t stop them even when I heard the key enter the opening of the front door. I turned out the light quickly so her eyes wouldn’t witness the devastation of my despair.

I try to block them from my pain as often as possible. They too are struggling. I quickly lay down and act as if I am actually watching the episode of light coming from the wall-mounted display of HGTV wonder.

She recognizes something off, even though the TV is on nightly at this time to lull me to sleep. She stands at the door and asks of my welfare. I assure her I am ok.

Moments later, when I feel I’m safe, the pent-up remaining tears make their way past my temporary ban. When she stealthily enters, and places her hand on my back. And gently rubs in a circular motion of comfort. She asks if she can do something for me. I say, “no.” Her concern was enough.

Her brief touch causes my restless heart some needed rest. Soon, I fall asleep from emotional exhaustion.

Her hand on my back was like the tangible comfort of God in that moment. Not a wondrous display of old, like when the magicians said to Pharaoh after a particular plague of gnats: “This is the finger of God.” Or like the brushstrokes of beauty displayed across the horizon this very day.

Her touch. So small. So miraculous in my brokenness.

The display of love.

Her love for me.
HIS love for me.

I read this from a Sarah Bessey post (from her August field notes), “I want to sanitize my own story here, jolly it up, make it more amusing and less sad, to reduce the complexity of it so it’s palatable and actionable for everyone else.”

Maybe that is the underlying reason why I left this blog site, out of an odd fear to display all the bruises and brokenness rising up from the depths of darkness. Fear if you really saw the struggle, you would try to filter it with kind gestures to woo me back to acceptable behavior. I don’t know.

Today is Day 104 of meeting with God at the kitchen table, just the two of us. It has been quite a journey. I read some of the early writings and wince at the pain of my aching heart.

But love is painful sometimes, isn’t it?

And when love is removed without permission, the gaping absence feels unbearable.

Love never ends, even at one’s ending here on Earth.

Yet, if I look closely, I see His glory on display, if I look through the eyes of my heart. Sometimes God’s intimacy is displayed in small snapshots in the day by day and not always in a spectacular backdrop.

A year ago He displayed His Wonder in such a spectacular way, I wrote about it, ‘May I never Lose my Wonder’, I was awestruck. Yet soon after, the cancer escalated, and there wasn’t anything wonderful. Only darkness.

But, in the midst of this writing journey I’ve noticed His love, comfort, guidance, on spectacular display in this dark backdrop.

And again, I am awestruck.

On my run this morning, I notice something sparkle from below my feet. Upon closer look, I recognize it is a broken lens from a pair of glasses. I smile as I take a pic. This visual is His Glory on display—seeing God through this lens of brokenness.

He’s there, if only I look close enough.