Waking up beside you…
staring into your eyes…
uncontrollably laughing, with you…
but this is the end.
Waking up beside you…
staring into your eyes…
uncontrollably laughing, with you…
but this is the end.
I think I started this week having no idea what would slam into me by its end. I started this week numb to reality. I started this week unable to face reality, yet truly wanting to. Right now, I halfway regret the prayer I prayed on Monday – “God, please let me stop being numb! Please let me face reality!”
Thankfully (and yes, I AM thankful for it), that prayer was answered.
Last night, I had to go to THE apartment. That one, the one I used to live in with my soon to be ex-husband, our roommate (yes, a roommate…), and our two beautiful cats. I was going to get some things I needed for baking pies today. As I got closer, I realized how much I didn’t want to be there. And suddenly Thanksgiving was flooding my mind and I REALLY didn’t want to be there. Thanksgiving memories danced tauntingly in the forefront of my mind. Baking pies for his family, all the loud laughter and talking at his family’s Thanksgiving table…
And it pounced on me like a cat waiting for a mouse to saunter by, that it was the first Thanksgiving without him in 4 years. Which isn’t terribly long, but when you’ve been sharing a bed with someone for 2 years… it felt pretty long.
I went into the apartment and got my things, and subsequently felt heavy the rest of the night. I was up until 1 am trying to avoid the reality that today was coming.
One of the first things I did this morning was take a walk. For perspective. For Jesus time. It was the best thing I could have done to start the day; with the knowledge I had a partner at my side to go through this holiday, and I wasn’t alone in my grief. That moment saved my day – staring at Pikes Peak and knowing that Jesus was holding my heart, was standing beside me, was my best friend and even more than that.
And really, today was a beautiful time with my family. We had a wonderful dinner and we graciously accepted each other’s cooking imperfections. We had wonderful family time together and shared our first meal with just us as a family since 2007 (Also significant for us). I got to choose the music, which was just magical in my mind. 🙂 I know that’s silly but it made my day. And it was fun, light hearted for the most part, just wonderful family time.
But all day I couldn’t repel the heaviness in my own heart, just remembering the apartment the night before. Thinking of all the memories his family is creating right now and how I am no longer a part of them, how I didn’t wake up next to someone this morning thankful to be with him. My dad at one point gave my mom a sneak tickle attack… and it sucked that all I could think at that moment was “He’s not here to do cute things like that with me.” Ouch.
The capstone was tonight. I went over to a friend’s house, clear on the other side of town. On the way there, God spoke to me the verse from Psalm 23 – “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” I felt that God was going to give me something precious. Something to feast on in the middle of despair.
I showed up to my friend’s house… and she was not there. As in, completely gone, and had gone to a friend’s house for dinner. I don’t know whether I didn’t get the time right or what, but it was the last straw for me. Reality hit me real hard. I felt rejected, and like I’d given out something only to be disappointed in return. Which was the way I felt for the entire 2 years I’ve been married. I drove back across town and stopped at our apartment, just feeling for all the world like I just WANTED TO GO HOME. The tears were flowing off and on the whole time I was driving. I walked in, sat down on the floor and just cried.
It was glorious and hellish all at once. I needed to grieve more than anything. It was healing to sit and cry and yet it felt so awful too. Breaking hearts are never perfectly composed.
After about 5 minutes the storm had passed. I wandered around the apartment for a few minutes, then came home and had some coffee with Baileys.
Strangely, even with the deep sadness, there was a table prepared before me. Healing grief was the table prepared before me, and I ate my fill of the feast. My heart aches and breaks, but I am renewed by it. I just know I will be stronger because of it. And I feel cleansed by my own tears. They needed to happen. And I am very, very thankful that today, I didn’t just feast on food. I feasted on something that God put in front of me so that I could heal.
And that is really what I think Thanksgiving should be all about. Thankfulness for what God brings our way, whether it is a beautiful moment with family or a storm of grief. In the end, as cliche as it sounds, “All things work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose.”
Amen and Happy Thanksgiving.
I had a dream last night that’s been disturbing me ever since. My thoughts have been in an uproar all day, and finally here I am ready to deal with them. I really should go to sleep. But with all this pressing in on my chest…
I am angry. I am angry because, you denied me. You were never there, you were the empty side to the relationship. You were like a blank slate, and I had to do all the writing.
Yet sometimes, for a few seconds in time, I felt like it was all okay. I felt like the world was gonna be fine, and we were gonna be fine. Time stretched, and you were mine. Only mine – not in the arms of a fantasy woman, or the clutches of a new video game, or running to the company of friends. I had you, alone, for mere milliseconds.
The feeling was so euphoric that in the moments just after, the truth would crash in on me. All the pain of giving so much to someone who didn’t really give it back. Someone who I was forcing into giving back to me. It was then, after a moment of complete denial of our reality, that I completely faced the truth. You weren’t real (I had made you a hologram of what I wanted), and I was carrying everything. I felt all the pain come crashing in on me, the betrayal, and the utter loneliness I felt.
But I lived, absolutely lived, for those moments of denial. When I could pretend, fake it to myself that we were okay (that I was okay), because we felt so amazing together. For those quick seconds, I felt worth it, valued, loved, pursued, and everything I needed to feel.
All I’m asking inside my heart is, “Am I okay?”
I’ve been asking for years, and I hate myself for it because it drives me, and I know it won’t solve anything. It will just bear more pain.
Subtle, it is
the process of letting go-o-o.
Like twining hands
loosening, un-ra-ve-l i n g.
Yet at the end
just like that, itsover.
I turn over and over in my mind the fact that I just feel nothing. No anger. No sadness. Just hollow and empty, like our entire relationship was for years. I feel so numb that I think I must have buried it all down deep.
Here’s to hoping that it will be dragged out of its grave someday. (And that I’ll be a grave digger sometime soon, when I get to digging up that particular grave)
My life feels like a collection of little grave stones, all in a pretty little row.
I’m slowly digging them all up, pulling out the old bones, and crying as if they still had flesh on them. Then I quietly bury them back into the ground, leave a little rose as a marker, and move on in peace, having said my goodbyes.
So – one day I’ll get to you, my old love. Someday I’ll go through the agonies of reliving your betrayals.
But for some reason, it’s not today. And I just have to let myself BE where I am. That’s the biggest lesson of grief that I have read over and over. Be where I am, and be okay with that. I want to rush the process and have it done with. But I just have to be.
Here I am, then… numb and quiet.
My fingers are tingling. I have been reading so many blogs lately and all I can think is, “Write, write, write!”
So I will write.
Two weeks ago, I was baptized. My pastor, when baptizing me, said that he felt that God was brooding on the waters of my life. To me, this is the perfect picture of the truth. Underneath those waters, in the black darkness, I have been forming. Waiting, hoping, striving for a way out of the terrible place I’d found myself in.
For years upon years, I was isolated from people. I’ve questioned over and over, “Why did you trap me?” God just smiles, wraps me in His arms, and says it’s all gonna be okay.
And in a split second, my world has been blown apart. Choices that I had no control over forced me to make choices of my own. I lost my idol. To put it straight, I lost the man I’d made everything. The problem was, I’d made him. That’s what idols are, right? Well this man of mine, who I cherished and adored, was something I’d made. He was strong, protective, infinitely cherishing, and would love me forever. My dream world came crashing down, though.
Reminds me of the movie Labyrinth, when she’s in that bubble and it pops all of a sudden and she comes tumbling down.
Well that happened about 3 1/2 months ago now. I can’t believe it’s been that long, yet I also can’t believe it’s been that short. It seems like ages and ages have passed. Even in these past 4 1/2 months (the process of the bubble bursting really gained momentum in the month before the collapse) I have become a totally different person.
In truth, I have come out. Haha – and I don’t mean “like that”.
“Depart, depart, go out from there!
Touch no unclean thing!
Come out from it and be pure,
you who carry the vessels of the LORD.”
And God has been brooding over these waters, creating something new in this life. I have been without form, void and empty, and quietly waiting in the dark. But God is brooding.
I feel it as I become. As I am formed.
Forming, my friends, is the most painful process I have ever gone through. It means death. Death of self, death of idols. Those idols meant a lot to me, but they were empty. I deeply grieve the emptiness they have left me with.
I grieve laying next to someone at night, hearing the slow in and out of his breath. I grieve that I can’t look over and see him asleep next to me, his face childlike, dreaming. I grieve that there is no echo of Halo in the living room, and in fact, I don’t even have a living room anymore. I grieve that I have no companion. No companion that I know and understand so much I could tell you what he’d be doing next. I grieve the lack of celebratory pictures and words on the wall. I grieve sharing 2 little animals and joking about their antics. I grieve the kisses, shared smiles, and awkward twining of our hearts. It was awkward, because it was forced and sometimes based on a fantasy world, but I miss it all the same. It’s odd, I often think about how odd it is to miss something I never truly had.
Yet, I grieve those things.
I am not composed. I am not all together. I am a straight up mess. Outwardly, each day, even if I hide it – I am falling apart. I hurt, I ache, I grieve, and tears want to rain down my face. So please don’t read this and think I’ve got it together because I’m a failure.
It’s better that I know that, not in my self esteem, but in my heart. Because right now, I have to realize – HAVE TO, for the sake of laying down all my idols – that I am a failure. And that God is the Perfect One.
Still, in my pain, in my grief, I am becoming. God is forming me.
“My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.”
“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
2 Corinthians 4