THE BLANK JOURNAL

The black leather journal sat open-faced on the table showcasing its blank sheets of paper. The clean slate reminded us of the inevitable constant in life–change. A new journey had begun for us. At 57 (Bob) and 51 (Tammy) years of age, we started anew. Our lives as we once knew them took an “about face,” forcing us to march in a different direction. The blank journal represented the unknown–our unwritten story. With God’s blessings, we pressed onward, emotional wounds and all, as we embraced our future. Feeling like battle-scarred warriors, with aging bodies, we agreed to set goals and to pursue lifelong dreams. We determined to fill the currently empty journal with a record of our future travels and accomplishments. Ink would record details that might otherwise be forgotten. Through journals, pictures, and videos, the memories would forever be etched in our minds. We welcomed our partnership and future with vigor. We had lofty intentions to “go, see, and do.” A blank paper has a significant, personal meaning. After we repeated the traditional “Do you promise…? Do you take…? I Do’s…” on April 7, 2012, in Champaign, Illinois, the pastor presented us with a blank sheet of paper. During the ceremony, he stated, “Bob and Tammy know what it is like to live out the vows to be faithful through sickness and health.” Each of us had lost our previous spouse to cancer–unfortunate loss changed us. Time, relationships, and memories now had heightened value. When we signed the blank sheet of paper, it testified of God’s goodness. We trusted Him, the author of new beginnings, to write our story. We met at a hospice-sponsored grief support group. Through shared tears, we acknowledged our loss. We worked through our grief, setting an intention to heal, which really meant learning to live with our grief, and we sought to find a “new normal” during the difficult transition. We were not in denial, and we were not angry. We knew our lives would never be the same. We were in the acceptance stage of grief. We could never go back to the lives we once knew, nor could we stay where we were, so we pushed forward through the eight-step process. Near the end of the two-month long program, our leader instructed us to make a list. She wanted us to put serious thought into our lists of activities we had always wanted to do but had never pursued. We cannot recall everything we wrote on our individual lists, but two things on Tammy’s list come to mind because they came to fruition–to obtain a college degree and to take ballroom dance lessons. Surprisingly, Bob showed interest in dance lessons as well. Individually, we registered online for the beginner class, Ballroom 101. In a very different setting, we began to meet on Tuesday evenings at the Regent Ballroom and Dance Center in Savoy, Illinois. We stepped out of our comfort zones and challenged ourselves. Burdened bodies lightened when brand-new, leather-soled shoes made contact on a smooth dance floor. The change in tempo refreshed us.  Sorrow turned to joy. Experiencing all the “firsts” after the deaths of our spouses was extremely difficult. Everything was a first–staring at the empty chair across the table, going to church alone, missing them during holidays, and even mundane things like receiving mail with their name on it. Taking dance lessons was a big first step in a positive direction for both of us, no pun intended. Understandably, emotions were all over the place. We felt skepticism and excitement, hope and despair. Our feelings were on opposite ends of the spectrum from one minute to the next. But through it all, we encouraged each other to talk, and we felt validated when we did. Who else could understand? We would not allow grief to consume us to the point that it would rob us of future joy. We stood firmly on the dance floor with heads up, shoulders back, and arms locked.  The elegant posture concealed our broken spirits. To the count of 1-2-3, 1-2-3, back-side-together, front-side-together, our feet merged into a box step. Eventually smiles appeared, followed by laughter. We laughed at ourselves, and we laughed at each other as we struggled to put into practice the instructors’ guidance. They made every movement flow gracefully, but simple it was not! For a moment we were overcome with a dash of guilt. “Is it too soon to smile?” we wondered. Of course not! This was what Larry and Barb would have wanted. A flicker of joy resurfaced. Through ballroom dancing, dinner dates, weekend hikes, prayers, counseling, and deep conversations, a love story evolved. When we began developing wedding plans, it didn’t take long to choose the venue for our wedding reception. It had to be the dance hall. We settled on a wedding date according to availability. The wedding celebration combined families, friends, and close relatives of our deceased spouses. On a deep level, we understand the fragility of life. We have succumbed to the reality that things could turn on a dime at any moment. Though newlyweds, we were fully aware that, in all probability, one of us would go through the difficult task of burying a loved one, once again. In contrast to that thought, we also felt empowered. God carried us through difficult times in the past, and we were certain that he would faithfully do it again. God’s provision in the past provided hope for our future!