Month: December 2021

The Day After Christmas

/ Julie Gentz / 1 Comment

I don’t know about you, but the build up to Christmas Day has been a tough one this year. The closer it got to the day, the harder it was to continue faking that “jolly Christmas spirit” that is expected of everyone, unfairly, even for those of us who are grieving the loss of a loved one. Bear with me while I give you a little background to my train of thought behind my post today. When I met my husband, Brian, nearly 30 years ago, I had just finished going through a messy divorce. I was a single mother of four children, ranging in age from 17 to 5, and my only source of income was my teaching salary. Needless to say, funds were tight. I’d met Brian in the summer, and by Christmas we pretty much considered ourselves a couple. I did not bring many of my Christmas tree decorations with me, and definitely did not have the money to go out and buy new. In fact, I didn’t even know how I was going to buy a tree. One afternoon, early in December, Brian showed up at my door with a beautiful real tree! He helped us set it up and it was even more beautiful than it looked when he brought it our door! I decided that it would be fun to make our own decorations for it, so my children and I spent countless nights making ornaments and stringing popcorn and cranberries to create a garland. The result was an amazing tree, filled with so much love in so many ways. So, this Christmas, as I was thinking about what to do to decorate the large evergreen wreath I had placed at his gravesite, I remembered that wonderful tree and the garland we made for it. It didn’t take long to decide that, on this first Christmas without him, reprising that garland for the wreath would be a fitting tribute to the love he showed for me that first Christmas we were together. So, since Mother Nature seems to be on the wrong calendar page for what is supposed to be December in Iowa, and it had been 53 degrees yesterday, with no snow on the ground, and it was still in the 40’s today, I thought it would be a perfect time to make the hour drive to the cemetery and decorate the wreath. After I was finished I had a heartfelt talk with Brian, cried, and told him how much I loved and missed him. I asked him to help me get through this terrible loss, and, from time to time, to let me know he was there for me. When I got home I sat down and the poem that follows is what I wrote. I had a strange feeling of peace after writing it, and I am going to credit him with providing that, as well as the inspiration. I hope that you are also finding ways to navigate the stormy seas of grief that rise up and flood our souls during holiday times such as Christmas. Much is expected from those of us who have already given so much that there is often precious little left over. But, we are strong, and the love we still hold for our spouse will help us make it through it all, if only we will let it. Hugs.

‘Twas the day after Christmas and the house was so still.

The tree lights were glowing, yet the air held a chill.

The presents were opened and piled in a chair,

while the memories of yesterday still filled the air.

The guests had all gone home to where they should be,

and normally that would just leave you and me.

There we’d be, cuddled together, up close to the fire,

a tradition of which we never would tire.

But this year was different because God called your name

and you left us for Heaven, and now nothing’s the same.

When I look at the table, at your empty chair,

I know that you never again will sit there.

Your stocking is gone from the fireplace, too.

So much that I see brings my mind back to you.

Then the longer I stood there, the more that I thought

not of things that still could be, but of things that could not.

“Please stop. You know better!” I could just hear you say.

“You know that we will all be called Home someday.

No, it never is easy, and it feels so unfair

when the one you love is no longer there.

But that love IS the answer! Yes! That love is the key.

If you keep it inside you, it will set you free!

Take your time with your grieving. It’s Ok to go slow.

Just remember, I’m with you wherever you go.

Live your life and be happy, and whatever you do,

don’t forget, here in Heaven, there’s a place for you, too.”

Julieanne Gentz, December 26, 2021

It’s Christmas, I Think . . .

/ Julie Gentz / Leave a comment

If you are anything like me, Christmas has a different feel to it after you lose your spouse. Having just lost Brian in April of this year, this is my first Christmas without him, and it is even more difficult than I had feared it would be. Part of that has to do with the fact that he was a Lutheran pastor, so, as I have said to others, “We didn’t just GO to church, we LIVED church.” And then there was 2020 when church was on Zoom from the middle of March until Easter, so, like every other thing that was “normal” in life, it was strangely foreign as well. At any rate, I keep trying to go to church because I want to do that, and I need to do that, but sometimes, like yesterday, it does more harm than good. I should have known better than to not sneak out the closest door after the service, thus avoiding having to risk someone asking me my two least favorite questions: “Are you doing OK?” and “How are you doing.” I know that they are just being concerned, and that they don’t know what to say because everything feels awkward about it all, so they just default to the generic question we say to everyone, not even caring if we really know how they are doing. At any rate, it was not what I needed and by the time I got home I was not just in tears, but stuck in the ugly crying and sobbing that I thought I had left behind me months ago. I literally finally gave up on doing anything else and went to my computer to write. One of the best things I learned from some online group grief counseling right after Brian died was to write a letter to myself as if it came from my husband. The strange thing is, I know what he would say, and it is always things that I also know are true, but that grief makes me blind to when it takes over my mind. It took quite a while, and I had to type through a lot of tears, but when I was finished I felt a lot better. And so, my offering to you today is this letter from my husband to me, literally written by me to myself. Perhaps it will speak to you as well, and perhaps even help you like it did me. Hugs.

December 19, 2021

Dear Julie,

I saw you crying and heard you sobbing today after you got home from church. I wish I could be there to hold you and comfort you. It is very brave of you to put your feelings on the line like that and go to church, any time, really, but right now especially. And I love you even more for it. I know how much church reminds you of me and the 27 years we spent together, much of it centered around church as we served congregations as a team: Me as the pastor and you as my unwavering support system. There were times when it would have been so much harder to do it all without you. Thank you for being there for me.

Even when it’s not just five days away from Christmas, I see you struggling to remember that all those people who ask, “How are you doing?” or “Are you doing OK?” are concerned and well meaning, and, well, quite frankly have no idea what to say, yet feel like they should say something, anything —  and that’s all they can come up with. Do you remember how, over the course of our fight with my Parkinson’s, we used to talk about how people with PD can “fake it” and “be on” for others when they need to? When that happened with me, it would lead to friends saying things to you like; “Wow! He’s doing really well!” But we both knew that wasn’t the case. You knew that when all was said and done, and it was up to you to slip back into full-throttle caregiver mode, that I would not be “OK;” that I would be tired, perhaps cranky, hallucinate, or be confused. I had used up the effects of my meds and my energy to “look normal” to others, and that meant there was nothing left for you. In other words, we would both be left wishing, with all our being, that I truly was OK; that Parkinson’s hadn’t taken over our lives; but, most of all we would wish that it was not slowly, but surely, stealing my life away from me, right before your eyes, and we were both helpless to do anything to change that outcome.

So, here you are, spending your first Christmas without me, and everything about it reminds you of all those Christmases we spent together. Remember how hectic it was with at least two, sometimes three, church services (that all required a sermon and one that was at 11:00 pm!)? Then there were the times when Christmas fell on a Monday, which meant there were even more church services (and sermons!) to prepare for because a service on Christmas day was added to the regular ones on the weekend! How about that frigid Christmas night when I came home from the two early evening services, expecting to be able to kick back and relax before heading back to church for the late evening one, and you met me at the back door and announced that the furnace was not working, and we had no heat. So, instead of relaxing we had to put our heads together, call someone to come and look at it, and eventually come to grips with the fact that our Christmas present to each other that year looked like it was going to be a new furnace?!

You know what, Julie? Those were wonderful times, simply because we were together. We had each other. We were a team. And, while we more-or-less took those times for granted, because life was hectic, and they just became part of the story, they were important. Now, looking back, all those times that we pooled our emotional resources, made decisions together, struggled together, and loved each other through it all, those are the memories that you need to dig deep inside your heart and mind to find and sustain you through the tough holiday days ahead, not just for Christmas, but going forward into the new year as well. And, while you know that I didn’t want to leave you so soon, I had no choice, and, as we talked about so many times, it was inevitable that one of us would have to leave for Heaven before the other. We just couldn’t fathom that it would be so soon . . . or so hard to deal with. Please know that the years we spent together were some of the best ones of my life. That having you beside me in my ministry was a constant source of strength, and often, just the inspiration I needed to keep going. Do you remember that evening, just several weeks before I died, when I looked at you and said, “Before I met you, I was afraid I would be alone for the rest of my life”? I knew then that my time with you was growing short, and I wanted to be sure you knew how important our love was, and always would be, to me. Life was so much better with you than without you. Don’t spend anytime wondering what you “could have done better,” or what you “should or should not” have done. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. We had each other. We loved each other. And that made it all worthwhile. Instead of dwelling on what you wish “would have been,” be comforted by memories of all that we had. Those, and the love we shared are something no one, or nothing, not even death, can take away from you. And when you are sad and missing me, remember that I am happy, free from my pain, and whole again. Most of all, remember that I am “living the dream” that I prepared for my whole life: spending eternity with my God and Savior. And then, remember that someday, when you have written the last chapter of your life, I will be standing at the gates of Heaven with open arms to welcome you home, and we will be together again – this time forever.

Celebrate the Savior’s birth and have a blessed Christmas, my love. Move forward in the new year and continue to write the next chapter in the amazing story of your life.

All my love,

Brian

When Words Fail Me

/ Julie Gentz / Leave a comment

Good morning! Yesterday marked 8 months since my husband died. Those have been long months in so many ways, and short ones in so many others. Sometimes I just have to write a letter to him, and here is what I wrote for yesterday.

November 29, 2021

Dear Brian,

I woke up this morning and the first thing I thought about was you. That does not surprise me, as this past weekend has been an emotional start to the long “sprint towards Christmas,” fueled by the empty chair at the dinner table at Thanksgiving and the quietness of the car on the two-hour drive home without you. It all reminded me yet again that you were, indeed, gone from this world forever, and that my job is now to move forward on my own.

Thankfully I am doing better at accepting things the way they are, and, as I know you would want me to do, I am striking out on my own, so to speak. Last week I purchased the marker for your grave, or, more accurately, our grave. It was a rather confusing experience, I must say (not to mention, costly!) Why did I say confusing, you ask? Well, to begin with, while I knew it needed to be done, I didn’t want to do it. In one sense it seemed, and you will excuse the metaphor (but I know how well you enjoyed black humor!), just one more nail in the coffin that reminded me that you were gone. And then there was the expense. One tries not to be “cheap” when purchasing something that will serve as a remembrance for someone they love, but then, again, one must not let emotions overpower them and engage in “grief buying” and overdo things, hoping to somehow assuage the feelings of loss by leaving an elaborate, showy grave marker. I have been to enough cemeteries with you, Brian Gentz, to know how you feel about things like that. The other thing that was emotionally confusing about the experience was the fact that my name is on the gravestone as well. That was both a comfort, knowing that we would someday be together for eternity, and a reality check – something I seem to be having a lot of since you died. But, in the end, all of it — the expense, the emotions, the finality of it – were all good and an important part of building the bridge to tomorrow with the steppingstones of our life together: That part of my life with you in my heart instead of in my arms.

Sometimes I wake up with the start of a poem running through my head, and when I do I have to stop what I am doing and write. And so, here I am. I got stuck on the poem, but it will come eventually, if like they say about all good things, I wait. In searching for my latest writing notebook, I picked up the well-worn pink spiral notebook that said “Personal Journal” on the front. The entries began on December 11, 1991, nearly a year before I knew you would be in my life, when I was living in my little rented house, having filed for divorce that fall. I turned the pages until I found an entry from our first Thanksgiving together, November 26, 1992, and here it was it said:

“So much has been going on, and my nights have been so late that I have been remiss in writing! I am, however, much improved over the past! Progress!

Brian came here for Thanksgiving – a change of original plans, but a nice one, none-the-less! I don’t quite remember any Thanksgiving I have enjoyed as much as this one. It was very special. We spent the whole day here – together. At night we took a walk, came home, and built a fire. It just doesn’t get any better than this. We talked about us, our relationship, and where we wanted it to go. Each night in my prayers I thank God for you, Brian Gentz. Every time we are together, I become more a part of you and you of me. We are forming a bond for a lifetime – and it is wonderful.”

And then there was this poem:

Words:

The stuff of speeches, lectures, conversations.

The tools of writers, poets, and sages.

Words:

That inform, chastise, and congratulate us.

That guide, soothe, and instruct.

Words:

Sometimes futile, sometimes grand, and glorious.

Often inadequate and incapable of conveying the true depth of our emotions.

Words:

Good for saying, “Pleased to meet you,” or “See you later,”

But far too meager to express how much I care for you.

Words that say, “I love you,”

don’t seem to be strong enough to capture the essence of how I feel about you;

of how deeply I care, of how much I love.

Words. After all these years, I still don’t feel that I have the right ones. They are all too feeble to express the love I carry for you in my heart. And so here I am today. Instead of writing about the first Thanksgiving we spent together, I am journaling about the first Thanksgiving I’ve spent without you. And, while so many things are different now, there are still some that remain the same: You still make the top ten list of things I am most thankful for in my life, Brian Gentz. Above all, thank you for all the love you gave me, and for helping to make me who I am today. You will be forever a part of me – the better part, of course.

Much love,

Julie