Embracing Change After Loss: A New Chapter

Hey friend, 

It’s been a while—actually, a very long while—and for that, I’m sorry. There’s so much in my head and on my heart, and I don’t even know where to start. It’s been nearly a year, and I’m mortified that it’s been that long. 

Loss. That might be the right place to start. There’s a gaping hole in my world. The biggest transference of pain that I’ve ever felt in my life. She stopped feeling it, but now I do, and it’s in full force. And with it came grief. A lot of grief. A tsunami of grief, and that grief just seemingly swallowed me up whole, and the visual I get is of Jonah in the belly of that whale, or fish, depending on the translation. The greatest love of my life, gone. But the writing was on the wall. It wasn’t sudden. But when it turned to days, I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say goodbye knowing that it would be the last time that I would feel her warmth, or see her face light up when I walked in. She didn’t let on that she knew, and nobody told her she was running out of time. And I would have been a dead giveaway. An absolute dead giveaway. Even now, it’s unbearable, and I can’t keep my composure. I would have definitely let the cat out of the bag. She was my favorite person in the world. A world that I now have to navigate without her. 

And you know what, friend? Even now, all these months later, with fat tears rolling down my face and boogers galore, I wouldn’t change a thing. I loved her with all of my heart, and I know that I will never feel the warmth of her hand again as she gently set hers on top of mine. She did that whenever I sat next to her, and what I wouldn’t give to feel her warmth just one more time. The sweetest yet bossiest, most glamorous woman I’ve ever known, gone. I loved my grandma dearly. She was my greatest and most tangible source of love on earth, and I can’t face the fact that she’s gone. Nor will I ever. I hate it; I hate every second of it.

Because right now I need her warmth. She’s where I would run to. She was home for me. No matter how I felt, walking through her front door and seeing her radiant smile when I walked in melted the rest of the world away. And now that’s gone. So, I do the natural next best thing. I close my eyes and place one of my hands on top of the other. Hoping that I could feel her presence just once more. But immediately, I feel a gentle tug on my heart instead. That still small whisper inviting me to invite him to fill that void and take that place. And as strange as that sounds to the average ear, I know you’ll understand when I say that my broken heart responded to the invite with another invite: “God, will you be my grandma too?” 

I wish she were here. And I’m sure that everyone says that when they lose someone they love. And that’s valid, because I don’t know when we’ll ever stop missing them. My intrusive thoughts win, and I’m interrupted with, “But she waited for me so long, and she would be so happy to see me getting married.” And so, I guess there’s that too. I’m getting married. It’s official. I’m taking the plunge. I’m officially off the market. And the milestone, although beautiful and exciting, is triggering a new wave of grief. Just like I’m certain that milestones trigger a new wave of grief for others who have experienced loss. But back to the fish, because now it’s super relatable. More relatable than I intended. I’m just like Jonah, and it’s more than I would care to admit. I’m Jonah, not just because I feel like I’ve been swallowed up, but because I have been absolutely refusing to go where God wants to send me. Yet I have a confession, friend. I’m also a hypocrite. On one hand, I’m throwing my arms up in prayer, saying, “Here I am, Lord, send me!”

But on the other hand, I’m like, “But check this box to accept the terms and conditions.” Because there’s a whole lot of fine print, I have exclusions, and embarrassingly, there are a lot of them! So many, actually, that I need to add an asterisk to the end of that statement. Because I don’t actually mean it wholeheartedly; there are exclusions, and I know it, and he definitely knows it. I’m just as bad as the commercials. You know the ones, the ones that roll through all of the legal language so quickly and in such fine print that they hope that you miss it? That’s me. That’s me rambling off all of my terms, conditions, and exclusions after my “SEND ME!” proclamation. 

But I’m entering into a new season. And with her death, something meaningful has happened. It’s triggering a fresh desire to run the baton well and be as great a wife and woman as she was. Because she was- she was the epitome of class, humility, love, grace, and faithfulness, with just the perfect touch of spice. She was the proverbial woman, and she was my greatest example of love. Her love had an incredible impact on me. And that’s the kind of legacy that I want to carry. That I need to carry, and so her life and legacy are forcing me to face my own. It’s a fork in the road, if you will. So, I’m forced to choose. Because if I truly want to have an impact, and I really want to hear, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” I’ll need to drop the asterisk. I need to get to the place where I can honestly say, “Send me,” and no exclusions apply. So, here I am declaring to you that it’s time. It’s time for me to be obedient and execute on all of the ideas, thoughts, and projects that have been swirling in my mind and heart for decades. And if I keep my word, you will know it. But if I don’t, you might never know. So hold me accountable, will you? And if you’ve already dropped the exclusions, pray for the rest of us who are still learning how. And if you’re grieving, for whatever reason, I will pray that Jesus comforts you in your pain too. 

Dropping the exclusions in the name of Jesus, 

iK.

P.S. Hi to my friends in China! I see you. xoxo