September 22, 2014 § 2 Comments
A week ago, I didn’t care. It didn’t matter if the sun was shining or it was pouring rain. It didn’t matter if we we had money in the bank or were down to our last dollar. It didn’t matter if I lived another day or closed my eyes and never opened them again.
I didn’t care.
There’s something so healing in being able to say that out loud. To admit to that kind of weakness takes a measure of strength that I didn’t know I could ever again poses.
Grief is so strange. Some days, it’s almost an afterthought. Some days, you can forget about the pain, the longing and the sweet, tiny face that is the source of all your heartache. Some days, it devours you. Some days you want to die a thousand deaths so you can
That’s grief. It’s where I’ve been existing lately. And yes, I do mean existing. You can’t really call what I’ve been doing “living.” Surviving might be a better word, but that almost makes it sound like I’ve been putting forth effort, which just isn’t true. I’ve certainly been doing all the right things – Going to church, taking my vitamins, working out, eating organic, drinking less – all while trying to care. My husband would tell you that I’m doing much better because I haven’t tried destroying my sons nursery in a drunken rage for almost 2 whole months now. I’m not crying every day anymore, and I can actually sleep through the night without drowning myself in a bottle of wine. My first and last thoughts for each and every day haven’t been, “why couldn’t You just let me die, too?” for at least a month now. So, sure. Better.
Most of that has been replaced by this listlessness for life. I have adopted Ecclesiastes 1:14 as my mantra. “Everything under the sun is meaningless.” This was my reality. My personal buffer and defense mechanism against the pain of life was to simply stop caring. Then my grandma died, and in my searing, soul shattering sorrow, I realized that my buffer was really just a dam that had burst wide, wide open. All the pain of loss that I had been hiding from came flooding back. All the self loathing and blame and deep, dark hopelessness were waiting for me right where I had left them.
So I came home to Florida, to my family, to my momma. Broken in more ways than one, believing that the sole purpose of this life is to suffer alone and try to hold on until the end. What I found, is that I was wrong. Though the circumstances that brought me here are not what I would have wished, I am grateful non the less. Stepping off of the plane and into the arms of my family and church family, was like having a searing heat wave shot straight into the winter wasteland that was my heart. For the first time in months, the weight of my soul wasn’t crushing the life out of my spirit, and I felt like I could breathe again. Just being near all of them, enveloped and hidden in their loving support has been the most healing and uplifting time I have ever experienced. I have seen and felt the heart of God in more ways, from more people than I can count on two hands. If I could name each and every one of you, and gather enough words to express my love and gratitude, I would. I came here shattered, choking and suffocating on all of the fragments of my broken life. I’m leaving with a new heart, filled to overflowing with hope and healing.
I’m so thankful to belong to a God that finds beauty in brokenness. I’m thankful that while there is great pain and great suffering in this broken world, there is a GREAT reward waiting for me at the end of this life. I’m thankful that when I am broken, I can cling to the One who will put me back together again.