Why am I trying so hard to be "normal" again anyway? It's just a guise.
This plastic smile isn't for me, it's for you. For my son who hates to see me cry, for my husband who is desperately trying to move on same as me, for those who can't handle the pain and would rather pretend time can heal and...well, I guess it is for me too. Sometimes it's just easier than showing the truth.
No one wants to hear the ugly parts.
No one wants to know that my hair literally lost its curl after Lilly died or that the little stuffed bear I sleep with was the only thing in my arms when I left the hospital.
No one wants to hear that I live almost every day in sheer terror of something horrible happening to Isaac or that I still play the events of that week in February over and over again in my head till I am physically ill with guilt and regret.
Not many can handle the knowledge that every single breath without her is more painful than anything I've ever felt before. That death is a constant companion lurking in every thought and fear. That behind every smile is a sacrifice, a betrayal to my soul.
It sounds over the top I know, but it's real.
A post by Rachel Lewis in Still Standing Magazine explains it so well.
"I know death has changed me when a friend announces a pregnancy and instead of simple joy, my first thought is, "I hope the baby doesn't die." (But of course, I never say that.)
I know death has changed me when I live with an ache in my heart that sometimes can be ignored, but never goes away for good.
I know death has changed me when prayer is war. How do you love and praise Someone whom you feel so deeply betrayed you? Or, perhaps worse, seems to have forgotten about you?
I know death has changed me when I hold my daughter's hand that much tighter while we walk the neighborhood, because I just know something will happen if I loosen my grip.
I know death has changed me when every time I say "good-bye" to someone, I have a nagging feeling that this "good-bye" might be our last."
I have been to all the conferences. I have read every book. I have prayed till I was empty....
And that's exactly how I feel. Empty. Hollow.
When they ask how I'm doing I secretly list the things I could say, and usually settle on OK. I don't say the normal "I'm good" because I am not. Besides I'm a terrible liar. One look in my eyes and people can usually know exactly what I'm thinking.
Don't get me wrong, I know how blessed I am. I have food, shelter and a sense of safety that most of the world can only dream about.
And of course there is Isaac, a constant ray of light and hope in a black world.
So what is wrong with me? Why do I struggle to find comfort in scripture. How am I having so much trouble seeing the bigger picture and accepting "God's Will"?
I am so thankful for the daily inspirations from Lilly's site. They keep me going. Keep me reading and therefore have kept me focused on Christ. Even when I have problems reading them myself.
I'm not saying it's not OK to question God. In fact I think it is necessary in understanding why we believe what we do.
My problem is that I know that I believe He is real-the Father, Son, Holy Spirit, the whole bit-but I don't always understand why....
I mean I feel it, deep in my soul. God, or whatever you choose to call it, is real. Something is in control of this crazy universe and it definitely isn't us.
I have witnessed His miracles and felt His presence and even dreamed dreams that tell me He is there, but most days I still just cannot wrap my mind and heart around His love for me when He could listen to me beg for her life and say no.
I've heard it said that God brings us to the end of ourselves so that we have no choice but to lean on Him. Doesn't anyone else find that cruel? Am I alone in my blasphemy?
I could never do that to my own child.
It's easier to think that He just wasn't listening.
I'm sorry if this offends you. I have no choice but to be brutally honest with my thoughts. How else can we heal if we ignore our questions and let them fester deep in our souls for fear of being wrong, or worse, being right.
God is great, I don't think He is offended by my questions. If He is who He says, He wants me to lay it all out at His feet. I am not naive enough to come to the throne room led by hatred and spite, but I am full of questions I am literally dying to know the answers to...
My Prayer: Oh God! Be a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. Let me find you!
