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
14 comments on “Why I Started This Blog”
Beautifully written from a Mothers heart. What a wonderful idea to blog.
Thank you for sharing, Leanne.
I hope you will continue posting your thoughts here. It’s therapeutic to write your feelings so they have a place to rest safely outside of your head. And in years to come you can read these words again and see how much the grief has lessened from what it is today.
I enjoy reading your thoughts because it’s hard to really know what someone is going through internally and you’ve written so beautifully. It helps me know how to pray for you.
Thank you for the encouragement, Bonita. I appreciate it. Thank you for your prayers, too. What a blessing to know so many are holding us up in prayer.
I can’t imagine! So glad you are sharing your thoughts!
I remember waking up in the afternoon on the third anniversary of Roy’s death. I thought to myself ” i can do this. today the grief feels like the tide rolling out, instead of the waves crashing over me constantly”.
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We lost a daughter of 14 back quite a few years and the pain slowly goes but you never really forget the time and event. It haunts you and you wonder what would they be or look like today I still cry over the memories and am about to lose my oldest too.
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Dorothy, I’m so sorry. Thank you for your words of understanding, though. They are helpful. I hope you somehow find comfort and peace in the midst of your storm. God bless you.
Your writing is an eloquent and powerful sharing of this terrible journey through grief. Turning the inward turmoil out is so courageous and such hard work. You are doing what must be done for healing. Hold fast to the Word. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
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Thank you. I appreciate your kind words of encouragement.
Thank you for sharing your heart. I to think it is one of the best releases of overpowering emotions and thoughts. Can be very healing.
I am sorry for your pain. It is one pain I pray so often that I don’t ever have to know. The thought of losing a child makes me trimble. Yet, you and your family and multitudes of Gods people experience the loss and pain every moment of every day.
I do believe a consoling thought for me and maybe the only one that would bring me any kind of resolition of peace would be that His heavenly Father longed and wanted him home. That God needed his presence there for some unbeknownst reason. And hopefully with the struggle through the grief I could find the acceptance. And KNOWING I WILL REUNITE again would bring a sliver of growing light for me. Then thinking of the glorious joy my child would be having, I think would bring some joy to my heart.
My heart goes out to you and your family. God bless you today with His SON shine. I am so grateful that He shared His Son with us. That we dont have to go through this pain alone. Some day maybe it will all make sense.
Thank you, Linda.
Thank you so much for you transparency. Life is sometimes more than we think we can bear. Sometimes the pain is so deep and so ever present that we feel it will consume us. “I would have lost hope if I didn’t see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.” I pray the Lord continue to flood you with His goodness as you walk (trudge through mud as it were) through this season. I know that our Savior walked through and faced the cross “for the joy set before him”. I pray God will set joy before you.
Know there are an untold, unknown number of people holding you up before the throne of grace. You are much loved!!! Your journey will echo in the journals and corrodors of time. Grace, grace!
Thank you, Sally. Love you, too.