Prayer After Losing a Wife

God, she's gone. I keep expecting her to walk through the door. I hear sounds in the kitchen and I look up and it's nothing.

It's always nothing now. I don't know how to do this. I don't know where she kept the insurance papers.

I don't know the kids' shoe sizes. I don't know when picture day is. She held the entire architecture of this family in her head and now it's gone and I'm standing in the wreckage of a life I didn't know how to run without her.

People bring food. The fridge is full and I can't eat. They say she's in a better place and I want to scream because the better place was here.

With me. With our kids. The better place was Tuesday night on the couch watching something stupid.

That was the better place. The bed is the worst part. I sleep on my side because her side still smells like her.

And I know that will fade. And I'm dreading the day it does. Because when that scent is gone, another piece of proof that she existed in this house disappears.

The kids are watching me. They need me to be strong and I'm not strong. My daughter asked me to braid her hair and I watched a YouTube video and I still got it wrong.

And she said it's okay, daddy. And that broke me more than the funeral did. Psalm 34 says the Lord is near to the brokenhearted.

Lord, I am broken in ways I didn't know a person could break. Be near. "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted, and saves the crushed in spirit."

Crushed. That's the right word. Not sad.

Not grieving. Crushed. Like something structural collapsed inside me.

I was not a perfect husband. I wish I had said more. I wish I had put down the phone more.

I wish I had danced with her in the kitchen when she asked instead of saying maybe later. There is no later. I know that now.

People say it gets easier. I don't want it to get easier. Easier feels like forgetting.

And I am not ready to forget. I want to remember every single thing. The way she laughed too loud.

The way she held my hand in the car. The way she prayed for me when she thought I was asleep. Lord, help me learn the things she knew.

The school calendar. The allergies. Which kid needs to be held and which one needs space.

She made it look effortless. It was not effortless. I see that now.

Don't let grief make me a ghost to my children. They already lost their mother. They cannot lose me to the fog.

Keep me here. Present. Even when present hurts.

I will love her for the rest of my life. That is not a problem to solve. That is just the truth.

Amen.