Kristina Lunde

The Lord is my strength and my song.
Psalm 118:14a

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December 31, 2019 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

From My Widowed Experience to Yours: 10 Suggestions for New Widows

To those who are newly widowed, I pray for God’s help as you process the pain of grief. Here are some suggestions that helped me cope with the most difficult experience of my life, when I became a widow with young children.

1. Breathe deeply. Eat healthy, drink water, get fresh air, exercise. Remind yourself of these basics, because your world has crashed in. Care for your body; your mind is working overtime to process everything.

2. The video loop in your mind will stop. Fifteen years ago, I did CPR on my husband when he died of a sudden heart attack. As that video looped in my mind, I beat myself up mentally for what I could have/should have done. Just as I lived through it, know that your video loop will stop. Until then, see #1.

3. Stop criticizing yourself. You did the best that you could do under the circumstances. Talking with the coroner may help explain what happened and ease your mind. The outcome remains upsetting, and the why questions may never be answered completely, but it helps to know the facts.

4. Alcohol, drugs, gambling, etc. complicate grief. They may provide temporary pleasure or distraction, but they won’t deal with the underlying problem. One widow got drunk every night for 8 months; afterward, she still had to face her grief.

5. Face your grief. Stuffing, ignoring, or drowning it out does not help you process your pain or maintain your mental health. Deal with your grief and work through it. There is no shame in getting help from a trusted counselor or grief group to process your grief. GriefShare helped me; sign up for their daily emails of encouragement or their support groups. Grief is a mental, emotional, and spiritual process that ultimately will be worth working through. Until then, it stinks.

6. Write down memories of your spouse and ask others to do the same. Save them in a notebook. This is painful at first, but these memories will be treasured. This is meaningful to do as a family, especially with young children.

7. Ask for help. People don’t know how to help, so give them specific tasks when they offer. Think of things your spouse did that seem overwhelming or tasks that you normally do, but don’t have the energy to do now. Then ask one person to do one task. Keep asking those who offered.

8. Grief rewrites your address book. Surprisingly, new friends may step up to support you, but old friends may back off. Many people have no idea how to support someone whose loved one dies. Consider that people around you are also grieving; they may stay away to avoid their grief or because it hurts them to see you in pain.

9. Don’t let anyone rush you in decision-making, especially about sorting or giving away your spouse’s possessions. Grief fogs our minds. Wait one year before making big decisions was advice my mom got when my dad died at age thirty-five. Decades later, that advice helped me to wait before moving across the country with my kids.

10. Processing your grief will challenge you mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. You love your spouse, and this a huge adjustment. His/her sudden absence takes time for your mind to understand completely. I had a lot of emotions; my therapist told me to “Take it to God, because He is big enough to handle it.” Working things through—and expressing my anger to God—helped me find comfort and understanding. A life-changing event like this can deepen your character. That outcome is long-term and hard to imagine now, so go back to #1 as needed.

For more details on my story, see the memoir My River of Sorrow and Memorial Stones, the sequel that describes what I learned through grief.

See my previous posts to grieving children, a new widower, a famous widow, and to my late husband.

Filed Under: Grief Tagged With: grief, support group, widow

August 1, 2018 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

The Move: A Mom’s Reflections on Boxes and Stuff

Boxes. Clothes. Stuff. First-world problems of too much stuff in the basement. Boxes of my children’s stuff: school memories, projects, photo albums, and yearbooks. A trumpet, music stand, and tennis racket in the corner. Clothes, costumes, and uniforms on a hanging rod, long neglected and outdated. Former extracurricular pursuits, now abandoned for a focus on college classes and career preparation.

Not only my children’s boxes, but boxes of stuff belonging to my husband and me. Plus memorabilia from deceased relatives. I am the keeper of family mementos, my house the repository of family history. My parents’ photo albums, dating back to the 1930s. Super 8 mm movies from the 1960s-1970s in their metal tins with a matching movie projector. Prom pictures from the 70s, photos, souvenirs, and clothing from my late husband’s life, stored for my children to sort through some day. More stuff in labeled boxes.

Hours spent sorting, donating, and re-packing the stuff. Carloads of boxes and items donated. Boxes and more stuff, memory after stored memory, lugged out of the basement, out of the house.

Not many memories from the room itself: a few projects completed and a water softener that ate large bags of salt. The heady stench of marker and the ripping noise of packing tape ceased; the empty room awaited only cleaning before the move. I noticed the smell of moisture from the concrete basement floor. My California daughter used to correlate that smell of humidity with her Midwestern grandmother’s house. “It smells like Oma’s basement.” How quickly that became our own overlooked basement smell once we moved to Minnesota.

Swish, swish. The sound of the broom clearing the last of the room. A residual of dust and bugs where life and memories had been stored.

And then I saw the vertical wooden column upon which I had tallied my children’s growth. Dates, ages, and initials of both kids, their growth verified on the upright framing. The 2 by 4 stood sentry next to a big black plumbing pipe, both essential to the house structure. I snapped a photo and took only memories along with me.

The newly-cleaned basement and house seemed lonely. No kid shrieks or laughter; no youthful energy inside. Gone were the door slams from frustrated teenagers. No kids racing downstairs as I trudged up with box after box. From solid concrete to soft carpet, stuff traveled up the stairs, out the door, and onto the trailer.

Slosh, slosh. The mop diffused a clean smell. A sanitized room awaited the home buyer.

Goodbye home. Goodbye to the place where my children laughed, played, and grew. And grew. And grew. And then they launched.

Thank you, Lord, for your provision and protection as we grew and made memories in our wonderful home. Please bless the new owners.

Filed Under: Parenting Tagged With: boxes, empty nest, mothering, moving, parenting, stuff, teenagers, widow

November 19, 2016 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Letter to a New Widower

Dear B___,

Thinking about you today and praying that God will be with you every step of this new journey through grief as a widower. I pray that God will be with you in all the tough realities you face today:

Photo credit: Pixabay CCO
Photo credit: Pixabay CCO

Waking up to an empty room with the big hospital bed gone. A painful routine it has been, with that big hospital bed and the adjustment to E____’s decreasing strength as she stayed in bed longer and longer. But you adjusted, and you worked so hard to keep her spirits up and her body working as she lay in that bed. May God give you the assurance that you did everything possible to help E____.

Your main job is finished. You washed and lifted, carried and helped. You served her with such love and care, offering an intimacy that spoke volumes of love and support as she wrestled emotionally with letting you do things for her. May God let you know that you did His work in amazing ways. Now it is time to rest, grieve, and let God comfort you.

Coming home with to the empty house. Maybe you listened for noises of her breathing—even those snoring respirations would be a comfort right now. There are no more visits from the caring hospice staff. I pray that God will ease the quiet and give you His comforting peace.

Seeing reminders of her everywhere. My prayer is that you see more and more of the precious reminders and less of the hospital accessories that remind you of E____’s illness. May God refresh your sweet memories of E____ as He eases the reminders of her suffering.

Thank you for loving E____ and being such a great husband to her. You were her humor, strength, and caretaker. What an incredible blessing you were to her as she faced the cancer!

Praying for you.

P.S. Check out www.griefshare.org to sign up for daily emails of encouragement and comfort as you grieve.

Filed Under: Grief, Letter Tagged With: cancer, grief, hospice, letter, terminally ill, widow

August 20, 2016 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Frozen in Time: A Widow’s Final Goodbye

1999 Avalanche Disaster

In October of 1999, forty year old mountain climber Alex Lowe and twenty-nine year old expedition cameraman David Bridges died in a Himalayan avalanche. Along with fellow alpinist Conrad Anker, they set out that morning to analyze the south face of Shishapangma, a Tibetan peak. Six other expedition members, farther back from the three scouts in the lead, were spared the sudden, crashing torrent of ice and snow. Seriously wounded and partially buried, Conrad pulled himself out of the avalanche’s aftermath and participated in the desperate, but ultimately futile, two day search for Alex and David.

Back in Montana, Alex’s widow Jenni had only verbal reports, along with her own climber’s instinct and intuition, to confirm her husband’s mortality. No physical proof of a life ended. No lifeless body to authenticate the finality of death. No tangible validation of a life ended and grief begun.

Shock. Explaining to three young children, family, loved ones. Grief. Mourning. All without a body to say goodbye to. Etching, scraping, and climbing through grief and loss to survive. Adjusting to a family that was tragically minus one. Preserving a father’s love and legacy.

Jenni and her boys were later joined by new husband and stepfather Conrad Anker. Bound by the pain of Alex’s loss, they built a new family together over the months, years, and decade-plus that passed.

2016 Mournful Recovery

Sixteen years later, in April of 2016, came the chance for a final goodbye in the flesh, after Alex’s and David’s bodies were found on the mountain.

Bodies preserved, long after lives were lost to a frigid end. Lives claimed by the mountain, now brought to the surface by glacial melt. A potential grief ambush of torrential proportions revealed by the sun’s light. The emotional trauma of facing the proof of a life vanished, the irrefutable evidence of widowhood, and the harsh reality of all that was lost.

Ice melted. Grief revisited. Goodbyes offered. Mourning renewed. Time to review, admire, and remember both Alex’s and David’s lives. An opportunity to mentally journey back and reflect honor on husband, father, friend, and climber.

Widow to Widow

Dear Jenni Lowe-Anker,
May God give you His strength and comfort as you face this mountain. May the melting ice give way to precious memories, love remembered, and a husband honored. May your grief be less about ambush and more about resolution. I pray that this reviewal will refresh your family’s precious memories of Alex. May the light of God’s son bring peace and closure, rest and nostalgia, hope and renewal. I pray that your widow’s heart not be torn, but instead that your love for Alex will be celebrated and commemorated, even as you continue on with the love of the second half of your life.

Prayers for God’s blessings on you and your family.
Kristina Lunde, a fellow pilgrim on the journey through grief

Filed Under: Grief Tagged With: Alex Lowe, grief, Jenni Lowe-Anker, widow

September 28, 2015 by Kristina Lunde 1,172 Comments

Ten Year Sadiversary

Dearest Lee,

Ten years ago today, our lives changed forever.

Ten years ago today, I did CPR (cardiopulmonary resuscitation) on you after you slumped over. I watched paramedics work on you, move you out of the house on a gurney, and take you to the hospital. The medical staff was unable to revive you after trying everything, and you were pronounced dead on January 7, 2005. Both of our lives split off in different directions after your sudden heart attack – yours celestial, mine earthly – in a separation neither of us chose.

The ten year sadiversary.

Never thought I would make it one week without you, let alone one decade. Now it seems like multiple decades, at least a lifetime ago. You were my husband, my parenting partner, the love of my life.

Our mighty God pulled me up out of the mire of grief and pain, and set me on the rock – just like Psalm 40:1-3 describes. God helped me rely on THE rock – the stable rock of His Word, His character – the rock of who He is.

Like Psalm 40:3 says, “He put a new song in my mouth.” Yes, I am singing and joyful again, although widowhood was a painful adjustment. It’s a long story — two books actually. I have no idea if God let you see the process; I just hope that you missed the awful part of our grief and mourning. The three of us love you so much; it took a long time and lots of help to adjust to losing you so suddenly.

Single, or only parenting as widowed people call it, was tough. I did my best, but it was not a smooth journey. (Hopefully, God did not show you all of that, either.) God helped me every step of the way; His comfort and guidance brought me back to living life again.

Do you know that I remarried seven years after you died? Who would think of having two husbands in one lifetime?! Very different, but I am grateful to God for the blessing of new love. You were the love of the first half of my life; Craig is the love of the second half of my life. Sometimes I am surprised that my life is so similar: loving my husband (OK, it’s a different husband, but it’s what I do) and family,  nurturing my kids, and volunteering in my church and community. I start my day in God’s Word and maintain similar priorities as before you died.

Except for the parenting stuff, that is. Our kids (seems strange to call them “our” kids after the painful adjustment to “my” kids) do their own homework, driving, and activities now. You would be so proud of them – but you wouldn’t recognize them as teenagers! They have changed so much and are well on their way to becoming incredible, unique adults. Craig is God’s gift to help me deal with teenagers;  he inspires me to be a much better parent than I was alone. I have adjusted to, and really appreciate, my new parenting partner.

Please do me a favor and thank Jesus personally for His death on the cross. What a gift that is to all of us! (I suppose that you never take that for granted up there.) Also, please thank God for the comfort and healing He gave me. What a turnaround God led me through after that horrible night ten years ago. . .

Maybe I’ll tell you all about it some celestial day.

[Originally posted January 2015]

Filed Under: Grief Tagged With: grief, letter, sadiversary, single parenting, widow

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