Monday, September 29, 2014




I have started this blog entry three times. I’m not having trouble trying to think of something to say, my problem is that I have too much I want to say. So many feelings, impressions, emotions and words are tumbling through me that I’m having a hard time corralling one thought long enough to put it to paper, err, computer, airwaves, or whatever the internet is.

I’ve committed to chronicling my grief journey for a year. Pretty soon that year will be up. Unfortunately, I don’t think grief adheres to a timeline. I don’t think when October 9, 2014 rolls around that I’ll magically ‘be over it.’ From where I’m sitting, I can pretty much guarantee that I won’t. But as that date hovers I find myself entering the strange land of restlessness. I’m like someone walking around in clothes that don’t fit, or eating food that has lost its flavor, or an itch that can’t be scratched. There is a hole that can’t be filled by anything within my grasp. I am undone. And at this point, I greatly fear this may be my permanent condition.
As I write this, I’m kind of hiding out. I’ve decided to play hooky from my life, just for a few days. When my kids read this, I have a feeling I’m going to get phone calls and maybe lectures. This son thinking I’m with that one, and that son thinking I’m with... well you get the picture. It’s okay, boys, your mother is fine. I’m on one bed and Atticus, the pup, is stretched out on the other looking quite pleased with this set up. The door is locked. I’m well fed and it is quiet. Very quiet. Not like the quiet at home, because it isn’t quiet at home. The quiet at home is too loud. The quiet at home has teeth and I just couldn’t make myself go there, not yet. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not.
Here’s what I know right now: While I am terribly sad, I know that I am also very strong. To be honest, when I started this journey I really didn’t know if I was tough enough. I didn’t know if the walls would come down. I am gratefully surprised that they have not. With that said, I must tell you that I didn’t build the walls myself. The foundation of my strength was laid long, long ago, in a Sunday school class far, far away. The first brick was settled into place the day I learned the words to Jesus loves Me. I’m not kidding. I’m dead serious. The next brick was placed when I memorized my first memory verse. “For God so loved that world, that He gave His only Son...” The third brick was put into place... well, you get the picture here too, right? I am not strong because of what happened to my husband. I am strong because of what happened to my Savior. And thankfully, I was one of those blessed children whose parents thought it was never too early to begin teaching the joy of the Lord.
Yes, I am still sad. Sorrow still taunts my days. But I am strong. I will endure. I will rise up. I will find my way... just not today. Today, I play hooky. 
Later, dear Ones,

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