Jesus, please fix me · life lived well · self care & self love


When I moved into my apartment a little over a year ago, I had a housewarming party. One of the gifts I received: a set of four wine glasses with words etched on the side. One says “learn,” another “embrace,” another “explore,” and the last says “live.”

Most people have probably heard of the seven stages of grief. If you haven’t, here’s a good infographic:

image from here

The funny thing about these is that everyone experiences them differently, but each stage is definitely experienced. Sometimes, people go from shock to anger to denial and then back to anger again and then to bargaining to depression and then back to denial again. And sometimes, people get stuck in one of the stages for awhile. It can be rather cyclical, in my experience, but it’s all part of the process.

Also, I do think that there are stages of grief that people don’t experience. I skipped over denial and bargaining. I knew then and I still know now that my reality is what it is and there is plenty to be gained by not avoiding the inevitable or pretending that I am an ostrich by sticking my head in the ground. And bargaining? No amount of bargaining will bring my life back to what it was before. So no, there are no, “What if I did this, then could I?” or, “Can I have this or that back if I just do ________?” Nope.

If I’m completely honest, I wouldn’t trade my life now for my life then. Don’t misunderstand. I deeply loved my husband and I cherished every moment with him. But…this isn’t about me and my life. It’s more about him and his life. He’s not suffering with the trappings of this world anymore and I’d rather not trade his current happiness and heavenly joy in for his old worldly sorrows and struggles. I’d rather him not be miserable, thanks anyway. I miss him, to be sure, but not selfishly enough to wish him back to earth.

Now about these wine glasses. I sort of adopted them as my own four stages of grief and even stages of life. I like to pick the word that seems poignant at the time, pour a nice French Bordeaux into it, and sit while I ponder the funny thing about grief. See, the funny thing about grief {no matter what kind of grief} is that there’s always something new for me to embrace, new to learn, new to explore, and new to live. Always. I just have to be willing to see it.

Do you prefer red or white wine?



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