By Sharon (SD) Mac
A few days after Steve’s funeral, after the girls hugged me goodbye and I dropped them off at the airport. I drove home to an empty house.
And I mean empty in a way I had never felt before.
The dogs were quiet.
Too quiet.
They looked at me, then at the door… almost as if they were waiting for him to walk in.
For a moment, I almost did too.
As if my body hadn’t caught up with the reality my mind refused to accept.
It hit me all over again…we buried him a few days ago.
He wasn’t coming home.
The silence in that house was so loud it swallowed me whole.
I didn’t cry at first.
I just stood there… numb.
I tried to keep busy, cleaning things that didn’t need cleaning, wiping things that didn’t matter, moving around just so I wouldn’t have to sit still in the truth.
At one point I found myself under the dining table, picking up something from the floor.
As I got up, I misjudged the corner and slammed my forehead hard against the edge.
I didn’t feel a thing.
No pain.
Just the thud.
I kept cleaning.
I kept moving.
My body was on autopilot while my heart was somewhere else entirely.
It wasn’t until I saw drops falling to the floor that I realized they weren’t tears,
they were blood.
I touched my forehead and felt the sting of an open cut.
Still… nothing.
No real pain.
Just shock.
Just emptiness.
I didn’t want to go to the ER.
The smell of hospitals, the sounds, the uniforms, everything was still too fresh, too close, too haunting.
But the bleeding wouldn’t stop.
So I forced myself to go.
The nurse looked at me with concern the moment she saw me.
They ran tests.
Asked questions.
Shined lights in my eyes.
Then the doctor came in with a look I’ll never forget.
He told me I wasn’t just dealing with a concussion…
I was showing signs of a mild stroke.
The stress.
The shock.
The grief.
The weeks of hospital visits, sleepless nights, praying in cars, running on empty…
My body was shutting down in ways I couldn’t even feel.
And right there, in an urgent care I didn’t want to be in…
God said, “Not yet. It’s not your time.”
Even in my brokenness, He was merciful.
Even in the numbness, He was protecting me.
Even when I felt abandoned, He was holding me together.
That night, I realized something:
Grief doesn’t just break your heart.
It can break your body too.
But God…
God kept me alive.
God preserved me.
God watched over me in a moment I wasn’t even aware I needed saving.
It wasn’t my strength.
It wasn’t my awareness.
It wasn’t anything I did.
It was His hand.
His timing.
His mercy.
I walked out of that place shaken, tired, and overwhelmed…
but alive.
And even though I didn’t understand any of it…
I whispered the only words I could:
“Thank You, Lord.”
Because He wasn’t done with me.
Not yet.
Not here.
Not on this journey.
Soli Deo Gloria! To God Alone be the Glory
“Thou therefore endure hardness, as a good soldier of Jesus Christ.” -2Timothy 2:3
“Resolved, never to give over, nor in the least to slacken, my fight with my corruptions, however unsuccessful I may be.” -Jonathan Edwards, Resolution, 56
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