In the past 18 years, I've lost 14 members of my family. There simply are no words to convey exactly how badly that sucks. All of those relationships were different, some closer than others, but they all mattered.
Mom and I talked about death extensively. In a manner of speaking, we were "used" to it, so discussing it came naturally. Truly, for my family, death was a part of life. After my cousin died a few years ago, our conversations grew more frequent. Statistics dictated that she would go before me, but having lost her other two children, she always worried that I would go before her.
We talked about how at some point, when you continue to lose those around you, and you're still here, how you begin to get jealous. Jealous that "they" are seeing Jesus. Jealous that "they" are reuniting with the others.
We laughed and joked and talked about how we were discussing with God that He just needed to come on back and get us all at the same time. It's a shame it didn't work out that way. But in all fairness, I spent years praying that if God wasn't ready for us all, that He would see fit to take her first. It sounds a bit horrible to say that but I knew how badly she worried about being "alone."
And God knows, I get it. I get it. I know I'm not alone. I have my husband. I'm surrounded by my "children" (no, I didn't birth them all). I am surrounded by other family and so many friends. However, those that remain with me do not replace those I have lost. Some days the sheer, overwhelming loneliness of it all threatens to overtake me.
Then, in that moment of brokenness, God gives me something. Some small gift and I know it will be okay. However, even some of the gifts are painful. (More on that in a bit).
Here lately, most days, I feel as if I wear my heart (in pieces) on the outside of my body. Small things that shouldn't bother me do and bigger things are even more magnified. A lifelong family friend lost her father yesterday. It crushed me. I know of that loss; of that pain; of "this" close to the holidays.
Oh, I know, how I know, all the things to say. You'll see him again. He's in a better place. He's not suffering anymore. Yep, all meaningless drivel because words CAN'T fix that pain. Time can't fix that pain. People can't fix that pain. Only God can.
There are days that I wish I could throw my heart away and seal up my tear ducts. I am just
so.
tired.
of.
feeling.
every.
little.
thing.
Maybe I could just be an emotionless, human robot. I know, I know. That's not really what I want. I know that we grieve greatly because we love greatly. And frankly what's the point of life if there's no love. It just hurts. So badly. I'm just tired of hurting.
So, those God moments that remind me that He's not done with me yet...
A one year old (who quite possibly knows more in her spirit than I could ever hope to know) who drags a blanket around reminding me that death DOES NOT end a relationship.
A husband who puts down a spoon and lid while cooking to put his arms around you when you've "lost it" yet again for no "real" reason.
A chubby hand on your face and a sleepy arm around your neck (belonging to the one year old that sometimes tests your sanity and endurance) and then the sweetest, sleepiest kiss you've ever been given.
A friend that cries in your office, because she's hurt, because life is hard and you know the only reason she can do that with you is because you've done it with her.
A husband that checks on you when you can't sleep at midnight and then offers to "stay up with you" even though he must be exhausted.
Yes, God's in it all. Even in the pain. Even in the tears. Even in the deepest, darkest nights of grief that we think we won't get through. He's there. Sometimes it simply requires looking for Him. And I'm convinced that anyone who has traveled the grief highway, that's your "one set of footprints in the sand" moment.
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