Tuesday, September 16, 2014

I usually add some polish to my posts...not tonight.  May I bleed a bit? It's been a hard, hard few days.
I've lost two mothers and two fathers, two by blood, two by marriage. I'm an orphan, the oldest one in my family. I know painful, parental goodbyes; they deeply hurt...still. I know gut wrenching loss of preborns and empty mommy arms.  I understand the grief of shattered dreams; recently I packed away my own dream of filling the corners of my home with the chatter of grandchildren on any given day. There won't be the laughter of family, crowded around a happy table each week. 
 Loss is awful in any package, but separation from a spouse can't truly be understood by another unless they've journeyed down that same path. With my other losses, I could bury my brokenness in my husband's chest, drawing strength from him.  He always softened the pain; he was a constant home to whom I could always run. 
I've lost more than my mate; I've lost the brain that complimented mine, the gifts and talents that made us function as a unit, the arms that held me when tears flew and fears reigned. I've lost identity, a future filled with life-long dreams and even, things I'm still discovering.
There are days when the will to take another step, another breath is non-existent! Packing up and going home seems better, but then, that would require that other step, that other breath.   Then, there are really good days that almost look normal when I smile and laugh. There are the days when I go through the motions, wearing a fairly polished facade that fools you (and sometimes, even me)  and then there is the string of bad ones when I'm restless, wading through fog, unable to follow through on any task or decision.  I fight fear constantly: practical fears, irrational ones, fear that I'm not trusting God in any way. I manage most loneliness, but "aloneness" scares me to death! Immobility is a new foe. 
But the greatest, most surprising squeeze is this pressure to be the old me. She's gone, folks! Half or possibly more of me died last December...amputated without the swift closing of a skilled surgeon.  Don't mistake what I'm saying; I know the Physician who will carefully return blood supply to my broken heart and shape spiritual muscle so I can stand and even walk again with his help. I think that's called Hope, but it doesn't come swiftly!  I'm an open wound, searching for the rest of me.  And I can't find her yet. I'm crumbling under pressure to rush this grief.  I want to be the mother who takes care of her brood...I want to don my nurse's cap and heal the wounded, but all I am for now is a half-empty, flawed mess. 
Save some grace for me when I fail you or seem disengaged.  Understand that one wrong turn or decision completely undoes me.  I need your tenderness, patience and yes, even mercy and forgiveness. 
I recognize your great loss, too. Never, ever think that I don't!  I want to soothe it...really! I first, have to find some energy. 
I liked the happy ME prior to Rob's death; I liked her a lot. I hope you and I will come to like the new Me when I finally find her.

1 comment:

Rebecca said...

Take your time, my friend. Time for our Creator to make all things new, including you.