I have said countless times that Sherri was my rock. She was always the first person I turned to when I had a problem and needed advice. She was always the person that I needed when life was falling apart. She was the person I most wanted to share all the good times with. Sherri was the foundation I built my life upon. So it’s no wonder that her passing has me experiencing a level of grief that has left me struggling to carry on.

Now, there is nothing wrong with having a marriage that is so solid that you trust your spouse with all your thoughts and emotions. However, just because I trusted Sherri with my whole heart doesn’t mean I should have never made her my rock, my foundation. At the end of the day, Sherri was only human. There were times when she disappointed me (and I’m sure far more when I disappointed her). There were times when she didn’t respond as I hoped. And those moments meant the foundation I was building my life upon was shaken.

Now, I know very well that Sherri did not build her life upon me. That may seem like a terrible thing to say, but she built upon the firm foundation, the one upon whom we should build our lives upon – Jesus Christ. Sherri loved me with all her heart as many people have been quick to point out to me since her passing. She shared almost everything with me (as most couples I am sure there were a few things she held back as did I). But when the storms of the world battered her – and they certainly did right up until her final breath – she found her refuge in the one who would never be shaken and would never fail.

Psalm 46:1 tells us God is our refuge and strength, a very ready help in trouble. When life’s storms rage, it is in God that we should find our refuge. Sherri did this and I saw it every day as I watched her battle lung disease. I understood this scripture but I didn’t apply it accurately. Yes, I trusted the Lord with my life but when life got hard I turned to Sherri first. And this is why I believe the grief has been do debilitating for me. You see, now when I need someone to be there the most, the one I would normally turn to FIRST is not here.

In her passing, Sherri’s life is once again teaching me a valuable lesson. I cannot build my life upon any foundation other than the one the Bible calls me to build upon. Matthew 7:24 says Therefore, everyone who hears these words of Mine, and acts on them, will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. Sherri built her life upon the firm foundation that is the word of God. I lived by the word of God. I believed the word of God. I understood the word of God. But my life was built on the soul mate He had given me rather than built on the one who gave me the soul mate.

I loved Sherri with all my heart and soul, but her passing did not assure my salvation. Her death shook me to my very core. It left me grieving and heartbroken. But despite what I have kept telling myself, it did not leave me alone. The one who cares for me the most and the one who should be my refuge has been right by my side since day one. He was just waiting for a moment , today, when I realized that my house was built on the wrong foundation.

Sherri was an amazing woman who the Lord blessed me with for almost 35 years. He was with us every step of the way. He was never far from our sides, even as we struggled the last few years. My wife always knew this and was always turning to Him first. Somewhere along the way I lost sight of this and placed my first trust in Sherri even though I knew better. Even though she let me down at times, I still turned to her first.

Maybe this is because we refer to God as Father. And I don’t necessarily see father as the one to run to in times of need. For you see, I am not a good dad. I will be the first to admit it. I allow my frustration and anger to get the better of me. I raise my voice. I scold rather than love at times. I am not the picture of a gracious and merciful father. So it’s no surprise that I would have trouble with God as Father. Couple that with the fact I have always trusted and gotten along better with women, Sherri seemed more comfortable to turn to.

When Sherri passed, my house of cards fell. My home, built on the shifting sands of human frailty, collapsed and I was left grieving. And over the last seven months I have battled loneliness because my soul mate was gone. But I was reminded today that I have never been alone. I wasn’t alone when I wept over her body at the hospital. I haven’t been alone the many nights I’ve spent crying since her passing. I haven’t been alone as I struggle to raise a specially gifted child. One has always been there with me.

I now have to remember to rebuild my life upon the one true foundation, the firm foundation that will stand the test of time and all life’s storms. I must seek refuge in one who will always be there and never forsake me. He blessed me with an amazing wife and an unbelievable marriage. I must now remember that He will never leave nor foraske me as I move forward with nothing but amazing memories of the soul mate I was fortunate to share life with. She wasn’t my rock, but she sure did serve the one true rock and so do I.

Before Sherri’s illness transitioned all of the household chores to me, I would often catch her vacuuming behind me. It used to irritate me no end. Let me be honest – it made me angry. I would always say something, and she would be quick to say what I did was fine but she just noticed something. Yada, yada, yada. Truth is, I just didn’t do it as well as she did and she was redoing it.

At first, I would think to myself that if I couldn’t do it well enough for her she could do it herself. The truth is she did do it herself more times than naught. Early in our marriage I did very little of the housework. Looking back now I was a bit of a jerk when it came to that. I made all the excuses – I’m tired from work. I don’t really know how to do it. So on and so on. Fact of the matter is I didn’t like doing it. And I still don’t like doing it.

As Sherri got sicker, she finally admited she couldn’t do it any more. (Of course, this came after multiple attempts left her gasping for air and being forced to hear me lecture her about it.) I picked up the responsinbilities and if she were honest, I am sure there were many times she wanted to grab the vacuum and go behind me. But she accepted the fact she couldn’t do it any more and I accepted the fact I had to do it.

Now, when I vacuum, I leave it out for a while. Why, you ask? Because I know I am going to see something I missed or the cats are going to leave another layer of fur on the carpet and I am going to need to vacuum again. I catch mysef chuckling from time to time thinking I am turning into Sherri. I wish I could, but I simply understand now what she did – even our best efforts at times simply aren’t good enough and we need to try again.

As I look around my home (it’s taking quite a lot of effort to not call it our home) I realize there is so much that needs done. The whole house needs repainted. The carpets need cleaned (or eventually removed and hardwoods put in). The kitchen really needs renovated (something Sherri desperately wanted to do). The master bath could use a new look. On and on my mind races through the projects I want to do.

Here’s the thing: I want to change the house to make it more mine. But somewhere in the back of my mind I also think I want to change things because the memories of it being our house are so painful. Truth is no matter what I do to the house it will still be “our” house. Memories were made here – although many of them were not necessarily pleasant as the house was her cell until she passed away. Sure, I want it to be the best house for my daughter and I, but I also would like a bit of positive change to counter all the negative change of the last seven months.

The vacuum is put up for the day, but I almost can here it running again. And I can see Sherri’s slight smile and her saying, “I just…” I just wish she was here to vacuum behind me. I just she was here to make her “excuse” for why she was doing things again. I just wish she would spend the rest of the day trying to smooth my ruffled feathers. I just wish she was still here.

Before I lost the ability to think and have rational thought in college I studied a considerable amount about the human body in regards to athletes. One of the fundamental principles is the body can only be exerted so hard before it breaks. Joints are not made to be twisted in certain ways. Tendons and ligaments can only be stressed for so long before strucutal integrity is compromised. No matter the physical condition of an athlete the body can only do so much.

Don’t get me wrong – an athlete must train his or her body agressively so he or she is in the best physical condition. The better the condition an athlete is in the better chance he or she avoids injury. But, and this is a big but, prime physical condition doesn’t guarantee a body free of injury. Freak things still happen and the human body can be broken.

Now, I don’t know jack shit about the human brain. Sure, I used to know a little about the physiology of the brain and how it functions from a practical standpoint, but I have no idea how it works on an emotional level. I’m not sure there is any level of “conditioning” the human mind can undergo to prevent injury. And I certainly have no earthly idea how to keep your mind from undergoing the myriad of emotional traumas that a person faces in a lifetime.

The human body will warn you before it breaks down. Aches, pains, cramps, etc. are all signs that the body is being pushed past its limits. When ignored, injury is sure to follow. But what about the brain? Does it give you signs before it breaks? Emotional trauma can surface in different ways in each indvidual so it’s not like a simple shoulder soreness or hamstring cramp. So what is the sign the human brain is about to undergo a break?

I had an editor who I love dearly that warned her sports staff about what she was going to do if she saw the words “war of attrition” in another story. I get it – I was a sportswriter for a season and we tend to use words like battle, skirmish, frontline, war of attrition in our writing. There are some similarities between athletics and warfare when it comes to execution and preparation. So, in some ways, athletics is a battle between two sides each seeking victory. But what about the battle for the human mind?

When a volcano is about to erupt, the number of earthquakes in the surrounding area increase in frequence and intensity. It’s a sign that something catastrophic is preparing to happen. The body gives signs like this as well before it breaks. But, again, I have to ask does the mind do this? Do the number of panic and anxiety attacks increase? Does your anger become even more intense and out of control? Do the moments of sheer sadness and grief magnify?

I ask all these questions because I am in the midst of a battle for both my body and mind. While my wife was ill, I lost a considerable amount of weight. I was losing the battle for my body just as she was. Ultimatley, my wife lost the battle, dying at far too young an age. I am still waging my fight. I have regained part of the weight, but I’m still not healthy. I don’t sleep well. I don’t exercise at all. And while I am eating again, I still can’t say my diet is all that great. So the battle continues.

The frontline that is scarier is the battle for my mind. You see, grief is to the mind much like cancer can be to the human body. It attacks and it attacks hard. I doesn’t let up and the “cure” has yet to be found. As grief takes hold, the emotional well-being of the one suffering is in serious harm. Anger, frustration, sadness, stress, anxiety – all of these things are magnified as you try to cope with the grief of losing a loved one or some other traumatic event.

Like the earthquakes around a volcano, these emotional triggers can become more severe and happen often. In science, we have yet to find a way to keep the volcano from erupting. The best scientists can do is use the signs to help predict when it might happen. The question I have is as your mind starts to meltdown can you stop the traumatic from happening. Can you conquer grief before it conquers you?

At this point in my journey, grief is winning. And frankly the battle is not even close. Not one day goes by where grief doesn’t take more and more ground away from me. I’m in full retreat mode as the battle wages on. The signs that my mind is cracking under the pressure are there and increasing on a daily basis. I continue to pull back, hoping to find a safe place to regroup so I can wage a counterattack. Finding the strength to do so is difficult. But the one thing I do know beyond the shadow of a doubt is I have to find a way to fight back.

Athletes must train their bodies and seek peak physical condition if they are going to perform at the highest level. People seeking to live life to the fullest and with joy need to train their minds to be strong in the face of all of life’s adversities. What does this training look like? I have no idea. I could help an athlete improve their bodies, but I have no idea how to help train their minds – or mine for that matter.

So the battle for my mind wages on. Grief, pain, anguish, anger, stress, etc. on one side. The other side is my heart desperately wanting to enjoy the remainder of my life. And right now it’s a war of attrition. There will be a winner. The question for me now is simply this – which side will win?

In the 1976 TV movie “The Boy in the Plastic Bubble,” John Travolta starred as Tod Lubitch – a young man who was forced to live in a plastic bubble due to a weakened immune system. In many ways, this describes the last years of Sherri’s life. Her seriously damaged lungs made just getting up and moving around difficult. Going outside and being exposed to allergens and the Florida heat often exasperated things 10 fold. It was a difficult situation to stomach watching my once fiercely independent wife not able to leave home and missing all of life happening around her.

Several months ago I made the decision to leave my office job and work remote so I could be home more with my specially gifted teenage daughter. It seemed like a good decision at the time, but hindsight as they say is always 20-20. Basically what I did by making that decision was put myself in the bubble that Sherri would have given everything to escape. Now physically there is no reason for me to stay in the house. Emotionally may be a different scenario all together.

Being home with my daughter more needed to happen. She has regressed since Sherri’s passing and needed some stability. Plus, trying to find care for her while I worked outside the home was expensive. But being home every day of the week means I have little-to-no interaction with adults. And when one is struggling with grief hiding out in the home all alone is not a wise decision. I have found the grief magnified over the last six weeks or so in part to not being able to share life with anyone.

Yes, I have one amazing friend who makes sure to text, invite me to join her for coffee and talks real with me. Yes, I am able to escape to church and I have one new friend there who sits with me and makes a point to talk to me every Sunday she is there. But that’s pretty much where it ends. Partly because I have a crazy work schedule that makes getting together with someone tough. But also because Sherri’s illness and passing have changed me at a fundamental level.

Sherri’s death changed who I am and how others see me. I am no longer a husband; I am a widower. I no longer have someone who loves me unconditionally to do life with. I no longer have someone who can take me by the hand when life sucks and tell me everything is going to be fine. Sherri was all that and so much more, and without her, I am alone and struggling to survive.

There is another layer to this pain – Sherri’s passing and the subsequent actions of others have made me quetion whether I will ever be able to fully trust people again. You see, I wear my heart on my sleeve. I am quick to share at a deep, emotional level. It’s who I always have been. It’s the curse of having a big heart. What I have found is when I do this I put an immense amount of trust in people. And not everyone is worthy of that level of trust I am learning. It’s not always malicious by folks, but the truth is people just can’t be there for someone who is grieving the way the one who is grieving needs. I know that.

So by being in the bubble, I am protecting myself in a way. If I don’t have people to communicate with I can’t overcommunicate. Thus, I can’t put myself in a position to be hurt further. As an extrovert, this is crippling. Sure, I have plenty of folks who reach out via text or social media, but there is no face-to-face communcation, no hugs, no true emotional support. It’s life in the bubble. But a life free of the bubble could prove to be quite dangerous.

When a physical condition keeps you in a bubble – as it did Sherri – you fight with all you are to try to get out. She would have loved nothing more than to be able to get out and live her life. I think that restrictive lifestyle may have been almost as bad for her as the pain itself. But when you are in the bubble for emotional protection, you may not be quite so willing to try to escape. Despite the intense pain isolation brings, there is a sense of safety in keeping yourself apart from people who you believe will ultimately let you down.

So, here I exist in this bubble of my own choosing. I cry daily grieving the loss of not just my soul mate but of the life I led for more than 57 years. I sit by myself in the quiet trying to figure out how I am going to make it another day on my own or if I want to risk further pain and heartache by letting people in. Sure, it would be much easier if the people who made promises of support and encouragement had kept their word. But they really couldn’t do so at the level I need.

When I was in high school, I had a wonderful teacher who encouraged all of us to “get out of the bubble.” This is how he referred to our small town. At my 10-year class reunion, this teacher was there and he was so proud of me for getting out the bubble. I feel I would be letting him down now as I have put myself right back in a bubble that might not be as easy to escape as that small Pennsylvania town. It would be nice to hear his voice one more time say, “Get out of the bubble.” Maybe that would be the encouragement I need to do so.