How?
My family has been rocked to the core this week. Shocked out of our routine and safe world into an unknown and unforeseen tragedy. We are at a loss. Some are falling apart. Others going through the motions. Some doing what must be done while grieving and barely holding on. All of us coming to grips, in our personal ways, that life will never be the same again-no matter what the final outcome of this situation.
I'm not sure how to process what I've seen. The shock was enough to stop time for me. But I fell into a familiar pattern, "this will be the same as the other scares we have had". But it isn't. It won't be like anything we have ever had to face.
We have all watched and cried and asked how. We have all encouraged and put on the brave face and smiled through our pain. We have all sunk, exhausted, into our beds and stared at the ceiling wondering what just happened and what will tomorrow hold. I'm not alone. But I can't speak for anyone else's experience or struggle or thoughts at this point. He has been someone different to each of us. But I know what he has been to me.
A constant in an unstable, inconsistent, ever-changing, chaotic world. A refuge from life and hurt and stress. A peaceful place of rest and easy living. A place to come home to and be at ease. Everything is always the same and I know what to expect. My safe haven has been shattered. It is just an empty shell now that will never be warm and comforting or restful again.
I've spent two days watching someone that I love and admire and cherish as one of the most precious and beloved people in my life look at me and even through me. He is confused, frightened, in pain, uncomfortable and trapped within himself. That is all I can see. Yet I know there is so much more going on inside. Things and thoughts and pains and fears that I can't even begin to comprehend. And he can't communicate that to us. He can't do anything but stare and cry.
I've held his hand and he has held mine like a lifeline, but for whom? I've witnessed the fruit of 70 years of marriage come down to the most intimate and simplest of caresses and whispers. I've seen recognition and confusion. I've seen panic and humor. I've heard pain and I've heard beauty. I have felt moved and blessed and I have felt broken and afraid. And helpless. Ever so helpless.
How? How do I do this? I don't know that I can. I've always expected to not be functionable whenever this day came. That I would be one of the weakest of the bunch. One of the first to fall apart and slip away.
I never anticipated that I would be one of the stronger. That I would be one of the tough guys. That I would be one of the problem-solvers, let's find a solution, what does that mean, what are the risks, what comes next, what can I do people. Never me. Not here. But here I am.
But am I really all that strong? I don't think that I am. I know I am coming off that way. Even to myself. And I even feel that way. But I don't know that it is strength. Strength feels like a safe facade that I subconsciouly threw up to protect myself.
Maybe it is grace. God's grace holding me up and holding me together to accomplish what needs done. That seems plausible.
What also seems likely is fear. I am weak and scared. I am terrified of facing myself; my emotions. For once my lack of seeing the big picture and instead getting lost in the details feels like a blessing. If I face all of it...I'm afraid I'll go to a place I can't return from.
So instead I repeat the facts that are given to me to others who are concerned. I even state them to myself as a reminder. But I don't "feel" anything. Since the first phone call a numbness has taken over that I can't explain.
Facing it means I have to feel. And I don't think anything that I should naturally be feeling right now would result in too much productivity or help or or or or...I don't know.
Anyone ever been near a volcano before it erupts. You can feel the ground rumble beneath you. You can sense that something isn't right in the atmosphere. There's a dissatisfied grumbling. Because what's inside can't be contained anymore. And when it blows-it really blows. Lava spews forth and rushing downhill, disintegrates anything in its path. Smoke and gases rise into the air and choke the life out of everything nearby. The world grows black as death. And when the smoke clears and lava burns out...all that's left is ash and mummified remains. Death. I don't want this volcano to erupt because I don't know what will happen to me when it does.
Don't get me wrong. I want to let go. I keep telling myself to let it go. Because if I don't it's going to happen at the worst possible moment. But every time the tears well up and my chest tightens with the pain of it all...I swallow it back.
I don't know if I'm waiting for each new bit of bad news or holding out for the good ones. I don't know if I'm waiting for the story to be over before I react. I don't know if somewhere inside I am secretly hoping that I'll wake up and check in and it will be all better and things will go back to normal.
But normal is gone. It will never ever be the same again.
I know that right now I am hurting more for everyone else than I am myself. I am desperately hurting for my grandfather. And as much as selfish instinct screams to hold on and keep him here every moment possible; compassion and selfless love for him will not allow that attitude to rear its ugly head. I love him too much to watch him be miserable and trapped. So I pray that God will set him free. Free in whatever way the Lord knows is best. Whether that be to glory or to us. But free him from his misery.
I am mourning for my grandmother. She met him when she was 14 years old. They have been married for 70 years and have been through it ALL. And they have survived it ALL, every time. But "they" won't make it through this one together. A separation has occurred that looks to irreparable and she knows it. Her devastation is beyond consolable.
My mom and her siblings are already mourning the loss of their father. Though he is breathing and his heart is beating (barely) he is lost as dad now. They are striving to care for both of their parents and to do what's best for them. They are working out the details and making the difficult decisions. All the while they are grieving and facing the hard facts.
The rest of us are here in the in between. We are hurting and grieving for our own loss. We are hurting for our grandmother and taking care of her. We are comforting our parents as they lose one of theirs and we are trying to be a help. We are having to answer the difficult questions and make wise decisions and dry small tears as they flow from our own children's eyes. All the while struggling to breathe normally and get through a day without completely falling apart.
I can't afford to erupt right now. To be honest, I just don't know how to.
How can one small blood vessel break so many hearts?
I'm not sure how to process what I've seen. The shock was enough to stop time for me. But I fell into a familiar pattern, "this will be the same as the other scares we have had". But it isn't. It won't be like anything we have ever had to face.
We have all watched and cried and asked how. We have all encouraged and put on the brave face and smiled through our pain. We have all sunk, exhausted, into our beds and stared at the ceiling wondering what just happened and what will tomorrow hold. I'm not alone. But I can't speak for anyone else's experience or struggle or thoughts at this point. He has been someone different to each of us. But I know what he has been to me.
A constant in an unstable, inconsistent, ever-changing, chaotic world. A refuge from life and hurt and stress. A peaceful place of rest and easy living. A place to come home to and be at ease. Everything is always the same and I know what to expect. My safe haven has been shattered. It is just an empty shell now that will never be warm and comforting or restful again.
I've spent two days watching someone that I love and admire and cherish as one of the most precious and beloved people in my life look at me and even through me. He is confused, frightened, in pain, uncomfortable and trapped within himself. That is all I can see. Yet I know there is so much more going on inside. Things and thoughts and pains and fears that I can't even begin to comprehend. And he can't communicate that to us. He can't do anything but stare and cry.
I've held his hand and he has held mine like a lifeline, but for whom? I've witnessed the fruit of 70 years of marriage come down to the most intimate and simplest of caresses and whispers. I've seen recognition and confusion. I've seen panic and humor. I've heard pain and I've heard beauty. I have felt moved and blessed and I have felt broken and afraid. And helpless. Ever so helpless.
How? How do I do this? I don't know that I can. I've always expected to not be functionable whenever this day came. That I would be one of the weakest of the bunch. One of the first to fall apart and slip away.
I never anticipated that I would be one of the stronger. That I would be one of the tough guys. That I would be one of the problem-solvers, let's find a solution, what does that mean, what are the risks, what comes next, what can I do people. Never me. Not here. But here I am.
But am I really all that strong? I don't think that I am. I know I am coming off that way. Even to myself. And I even feel that way. But I don't know that it is strength. Strength feels like a safe facade that I subconsciouly threw up to protect myself.
Maybe it is grace. God's grace holding me up and holding me together to accomplish what needs done. That seems plausible.
What also seems likely is fear. I am weak and scared. I am terrified of facing myself; my emotions. For once my lack of seeing the big picture and instead getting lost in the details feels like a blessing. If I face all of it...I'm afraid I'll go to a place I can't return from.
So instead I repeat the facts that are given to me to others who are concerned. I even state them to myself as a reminder. But I don't "feel" anything. Since the first phone call a numbness has taken over that I can't explain.
Facing it means I have to feel. And I don't think anything that I should naturally be feeling right now would result in too much productivity or help or or or or...I don't know.
Anyone ever been near a volcano before it erupts. You can feel the ground rumble beneath you. You can sense that something isn't right in the atmosphere. There's a dissatisfied grumbling. Because what's inside can't be contained anymore. And when it blows-it really blows. Lava spews forth and rushing downhill, disintegrates anything in its path. Smoke and gases rise into the air and choke the life out of everything nearby. The world grows black as death. And when the smoke clears and lava burns out...all that's left is ash and mummified remains. Death. I don't want this volcano to erupt because I don't know what will happen to me when it does.
Don't get me wrong. I want to let go. I keep telling myself to let it go. Because if I don't it's going to happen at the worst possible moment. But every time the tears well up and my chest tightens with the pain of it all...I swallow it back.
I don't know if I'm waiting for each new bit of bad news or holding out for the good ones. I don't know if I'm waiting for the story to be over before I react. I don't know if somewhere inside I am secretly hoping that I'll wake up and check in and it will be all better and things will go back to normal.
But normal is gone. It will never ever be the same again.
I know that right now I am hurting more for everyone else than I am myself. I am desperately hurting for my grandfather. And as much as selfish instinct screams to hold on and keep him here every moment possible; compassion and selfless love for him will not allow that attitude to rear its ugly head. I love him too much to watch him be miserable and trapped. So I pray that God will set him free. Free in whatever way the Lord knows is best. Whether that be to glory or to us. But free him from his misery.
I am mourning for my grandmother. She met him when she was 14 years old. They have been married for 70 years and have been through it ALL. And they have survived it ALL, every time. But "they" won't make it through this one together. A separation has occurred that looks to irreparable and she knows it. Her devastation is beyond consolable.
My mom and her siblings are already mourning the loss of their father. Though he is breathing and his heart is beating (barely) he is lost as dad now. They are striving to care for both of their parents and to do what's best for them. They are working out the details and making the difficult decisions. All the while they are grieving and facing the hard facts.
The rest of us are here in the in between. We are hurting and grieving for our own loss. We are hurting for our grandmother and taking care of her. We are comforting our parents as they lose one of theirs and we are trying to be a help. We are having to answer the difficult questions and make wise decisions and dry small tears as they flow from our own children's eyes. All the while struggling to breathe normally and get through a day without completely falling apart.
I can't afford to erupt right now. To be honest, I just don't know how to.
How can one small blood vessel break so many hearts?
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