I started this blog to try to write eloquently about my life. But, I’ve decided I just want to put my thoughts and feelings “out there” for whomever would like to read them.
It’s been three and a half months since our middle son was killed on the highway on his way to work. This is such a hard, unwanted journey. I didn’t ask for this, but it’s a hand that has been dealt me. I’m trying to deal with it the best I can. I hope sharing my thoughts and feelings about it will help me. But, I also hope it won’t hurt you. Please don’t read it if it does. I just need to get it out into cyber-space where it can float around there instead of in my brain.
I wonder how long it will be before the constant crazy thoughts stop assaulting me. How long will it be before I quit hearing the sheriff knocking on my front door in that loud, insistent way? How long until I stop imagining in perfect detail an accident I didn’t see? How long before I stop wondering what details are in the Coroner’s report that my lawyer, with my permission, refuses to let me see? How long until I am able to go through the sacks of his clothing in my basement? I know his “Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy” t-shirt is in there. How long until I am able to use the Pyrex dish I kept when we cleaned out his apartment without having a rush of anguish pummel my soul?
I want to move on. But, I can’t. Why do we “go through” grief? Why can’t it just visit us for a day or two, then leave us alone for a month or so? Why must we trudge through it on a day by day, moment by moment basis?
I do have times where I feel relatively “normal” – in my “new normal” way. At least I don’t feel like I’m drowning in grief lately. It’s more like swimming in it. My head is above the surface of the water now, and I’m getting some much needed oxygen to my brain. But, I still feel that relentless heaviness, like my body is endlessly treading water. We had a four foot deep pool at our previous home. Being five foot, three inches tall, I could easily get most of my body underwater while still standing. I would sometimes tread water for a workout, always knowing that the bottom of the pool was right beneath my feet and I could stop treading and stand up at any given time. This grief is like treading water in a pool where I frequently forget there is a bottom. I panic. I think I’m going to drown if someone doesn’t save me. It’s hard to remember that there is a Savior. I have a Savior. This is my objective lately – to remember that I have a Savior.
“However difficult and painful your road, it is marked by the footsteps of your Savior.” -Spurgeon