Through the Heartache

"My husband and I were still sporting tans from our honeymoon and he was calling to tell me the dizziness and headaches he had been experiencing were the result of a brain tumor."

- Bridgit Muratore

Through the Heartache

My heart raced as his words came through the phone.  I hung up, grabbed my purse, and shut off my computer.  It was the middle of the day but I had to leave.  My boss was standing next to me as I frantically cleared my desk with shaking hands.  He took the cup from me and told me to go.  Prayers flooded my mind as I drove to the hospital, asking God to remain with me.  My husband and I were still sporting tans from our honeymoon, we had been married roughly three weeks.  He was calling to tell me the dizziness and headaches he had been experiencing were the result of a brain tumor.  

A brain tumor?

How was that possible?

The rest of the afternoon we spent waiting for a room to become available, pausing every time a doctor’s coat came within sight.  We were sure it was a dream.  Someone somewhere had made a mistake.  By the time he was admitted it was the middle of the night and we had more questions than answers.  There was nothing either of us could do but wait.  The next day we met with a neurosurgeon, general medical doctor, and a few others to discuss a game plan.  The surgery was scheduled, we received pamphlets about brain tumors, and discussed options that could be revealed from the biopsy.  The morning of the surgery, I walked alongside my husband to the operating doors until I was allowed no further.  As he passed beyond my view, I retreated to the hospital chapel.  I sat in silence for several hours because I didn’t have any prayers left in me.  Shock left me paralyzed.  The following day we received news of the worst-case scenario from the biopsy and the real battle began.  

I was in my twenties when my husband lost his battle with brain cancer and I became a widow.  The fifty years I had dreamt about on our honeymoon was shattered.  I returned to work and stepped into society but walked through the day as a shadow of my previous self.  I operated on autopilot; there was a hole inside me and a sense I may never recover.  One day I walked through a hallway and someone I had never met stopped me to share a vision she had of me.  She told me she saw me standing strong, anchored to the earth like a giant tree, while a storm swirled around me.  She told me I would be ok.  I didn’t respond to her because I was a shell, and I didn’t feel ok.  

During the years that followed my first husband’s death, I felt intense pain, unbearable sorrow, and extreme anger but I never felt ok.  Numbness engulfed my existence, and I floated through days, weeks, and months without feeling anything.  I coped with my grief through counseling but living without him seemed too much for me to bear.  One of the practices of Emphory is I am OK.  It doesn’t mean all situations are ok but that I am complete regardless of the experience taking place outside of me.  While I was in the midst of my grief, I was not able to acknowledge the part of me that was ok.  I’ve grown to understand this practice is much deeper than what can be seen through surface observation.  This practice takes me to my very core, my true essence, my being.  The part of me that is always OK is the part of me that is with and within God.  The part of me that stands strong in His benevolence while storms rage around me and sits silently within me amongst the stars on a peaceful night.  

"The part of me that is always OK is the part of me that is with and within God."

The practice I Am Ok reminds me I am made in the image of God; therefore, no matter the circumstance, I am ok.  After his death, someone asked if I knew everything that I would go through would I choose to love him, marry him, and be by his side as he died.  Would I choose to do it all again?  At the time, I thought it was an odd question.  It was like asking after eating your favorite dessert if you would choose to order the same thing knowing you would consume it.  While I was stuck in the numbness aftermath of his loss, I wasn’t aware that I was ok however I now understand life is about the experiences.  Some may be more pleasant than others, but the tough ones are worth every step as well.  I wouldn’t give up any part of my life with my first husband, even the grief, tears, and pain because through loving him I became the woman I am today.  

I remember this by remembering I AM OK.  Not that I will be ok but that I already am regardless of the reflections of the outside world or my internal feelings.  I AM OK is a state of being not a destination which means I don’t have to fix anything in order to be ok.  I now know that no matter the experience I face, I am ok in that experience.  The experience itself may not be ok, there may come a time when I will grieve again, however I know that grief will no longer leave me a shell of my previous self.  In knowing, I AM OK, I have resilience that can rise from any experience, and I can navigate any situation.  I am capable of withstanding hardship just as I am capable of experiencing great joy.  Not because I can struggle through hard times but because I live in a state of being that is always ok.  Just as a peanut butter and jelly sandwich requires bread, peanut butter, and jelly to be complete, I require the hardships as well as the joy to be the complete person I am.  When I remember the practice, I am ok, I can face the experiences of life with openness and navigate to have the life of my dreams.