What I need to hear from you is that you recognize how painful it is. I need to hear from you that you are with me in my desperation. To comfort me, you have to come close. Come sit beside me on my mourning bench.
— Lament for a Son — Nicholas Wolterstorff
Yep. I am still focused on this little powerful book. No where have I read words which at last help me to feel so understood. Unfortunately, comfort does not prevail for too long before life in my misunderstood world of grief knocks me for a loop again.
Again, I find myself feeling so pissed off. Another week of reminders that very few “get it.” Yesterday we received a note thanking us that my “entire family” was able to attend their event. Huh? I mean freaking huh? My entire family?? Clearly, this couple knew what happened. They are both kind. Our history runs deep with one member of the couple. My husband said it’s almost comical what we are forced to deal with sometimes. For heaven’s sake. I just can’t take it. My “entire family.” I wish …
I know I have said it before, but it is worth repeating again. I am so sick and tired of EVERYTHING related to losing Amy. From the debilitating memories of Devastation Day … to the unnatural course of planning and attending a funeral for my youngest child … to burying my child … to existing in a world without her. To resetting myself so many times that if I ran on batteries, I would be replacing them hourly. To even writing on this blog.
Believe me, I realize the impression of me my choppy sentences composed with the same painful words and run on sentences are leaving with the savvy blogger … What can I say that hasn’t already been shared eloquently by many other grievers? None of my posts which are written from a place of such deep despair have changed the way others treat me. Maybe my rants and honesty have scared them away. Grow some! What a cop-out, shallow ones! Okay, sorry, I guess I should delete these past few sentences but I probably won’t.
What I wouldn’t give to return to my life before Devastation Day. My grief which is a direct result of my deep love for Amy is holding my life hostage. IT IS NOT A WILLFUL CHOICE. Grief is a consequence, a reaction, a verb, a noun. It has to run its course through every fiber of your life before it will allow glimmers of peace to shine through again. Grief has its own timetable and is running the show. So forget any preconceived notions about controlling it. I am finding I need to ride it out and allow its waves to beat the living daylights out of me. Afterwards, there is a calm, for however long it lasts.
I am not a blogger, nor do I want to be, yet I write words on an iPad in an effort to dump and share life on the other side of Devastation Day. As I have admitted before, every day I consider putting up a “gone fishing” sign on this blog. Maybe I should try to exist in solitude and silence. Would it help if I put a plug in my grief?
In the valley of suffering, despair and bitterness are brewed. But there also character is made. The valley of suffering is the vale of soul-making.
There is nothing about living with all of this pain that is leading me to become a better person. Plain and simple, I want my old life back and if anyone assumes the day will come when I ever, ever say that everything happens for a reason and I am just fine with my daughter leaving me and my family at age 27, well dream on. I came into this world kicking and screaming and will probably leave the same way. I will never ACCEPT that anything about my daughter’s death was okay. Yes, God in His infinite wisdom can see the “big plan” but how many times do I have to say I was not privy to that memo and am not wired to exist without Amy?
So in 7-9 years after I become better acclimated to living my new normal life in this wonderful world as a woman who lost one of her children, does God really expect me to take this experience and make lemonade? Seriously, what a crock of crap that any living being would be asked to suffer with such unimaginable devastating pain and loneliness as a means to evolve … The God I have loved my entire life would not have such unrealistic expectations of me. I can almost imagine Him sitting on that “mourning bench” with me because He sees my heart. I do not believe He has abandoned me and is the only One who is patient enough to allow me to own this pain.
Mr. Wolterstorff: I am light years away from finding any light on this horrible valley of sorrow and despair. My soul still has no idea what hit it. Maybe in my next lifetime, I will die before my children as it should be …
I am sick of looking for silver linings somewhere over the rainbow. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.
Always remembering Amy.
PS: As I am writing this, there was a breaking news story which flashed on my iPad. “Newborn baby found on fire on the side of the road”. No wonder I cannot find what I need “here” to comfort me. Having seen this headline, I feel sick. A newborn set on fire… How do you wrap your head around that one. Yep, this must be hell.