Wednesday, July 13, 2011
A Rough Patch
The last two weeks have been hard. I'm at a place I can no longer explain it to people. The trauma of what happened with Matt seems to have magnified traumas of smaller scales earlier in my life and the terrors continue to sheer through my body at unexpected and unwanted times. I can't remember anything. Seriously, I am unable to recall the largest or smallest details. If my shopping list has more than one item, forget it (litterally). There are times I'm not sure if I am even living in a conscious state of mind at all. Concentration is difficult. Tasks are tremendous. I'm overwhelmed with the feeling of being judged, and the anger that surrounds that is frightening in itself. For if I know one thing it is anger leads to bitterness, and in my life bitterness is the one thing I will go to my grave kicking and screaming to avoid. I don't want to be bitter, and I don't want to be around the bitter. Love wins, because God is love (and I'm not talking a heaven/hell debate). I'm surviving. I'm doing what I feel is best. I'm doing what someone who has just lost their spouse does . . . still breathing. I have been blessed with financial and relational help from God that I have no right to question, and neither does anyone else. This questioning from others does not include concern for me, those who I feel most loved by show and share their concerns; with bitterness aside and grace abounding/surrounding their words. I feel alone. I'm so scared most nights at my town house that the number of lights remaining on is usually greater than those that are off. I don't sleep well. I jump up in the night panicked I may be unaware of the next trauma occurring outside my bedroom door. I have no patience. At the end of most days I'm so drained by my bickering with Evelyn I can't remember if we got along for more than a minute all day. My desired energy to mother the way I would like is far from where I would have it. I fear the victim role, and so I do my best to avoid it. I blog/speak/teach/talk about His love, His provisions, and His plan. And yet, even with my knowledge I'm still in pain. My tongue, for the first time in my life, appears tied at times. I'm unable to discern if it is tied by the Holy Spirit beckoning me to shut my trap, or Satan holding back my ability to communicate well within in the confines of my insecurities. I find myself sitting in a chair waiting. Waiting for the next trial, next suffering, next test. I can see the refinement He's given me so far in life and I wouldn't trade that for an easier path no matter what, but I feel like a 81 year old in a 31 year old's body. I've learned enough [for now]. Peace would be nice. Encouragement would be good. The ability to let those who love me understand that I have not been perfect, I will not be perfect, but I am a widow. To show me grace in the decisions made on this path, because - like you - I've never traveled it before. A widow who is simple doing her best in a pained, angry, and lonely world to get over my hill and see that maybe there is more in store.