Sunday and I stayed in bed and did not go to Church. I’m on my second cup of coffee. Church is starting and I am not there. I am trying to figure out how I feel. I feel weak. As though I lost. It’s over and I did not do anything. Yet I lost. That feeling of loss overwhelms me. It takes my breath and makes it small, shallow. It has taken the vim and the vinegar away from me. I do not hurt. I just am not.
I dress as if there is leisure only to be had. In a shirt too large though last time I tried it it was too small. So I put it on and I am tiny in it. I consider taking it off because it is now too big. But it is a lovely shirt. Covered in little pink flowers all shades of pink, surrounded by olive green stems and little leaves on a black background. I put on my dark blue jean capris. They are brand new, size 12 and fit me perfectly. I love them and that they are a size 12 and fit me like this.
I woke at 10 because Mark took care of everything for me. He did my morning chores and then he left. He wanted to let me sleep in. I feel the cliff of tears beside me but I don’t step over there for fear of falling. Yet I know how close they are. They are not the tears of shame because if they were I would willingly fall off and cry it out and let my Lord rescue me and place me on new solid beautiful ground. I would do that if they were. But they are the tears of loss. To fall over that cliff again would be to undo all the progress I’ve made. It would mean learning to walk again. So this year on this my greatest day of sorrow I must not step over the cliff of tears. Close it is but I walk straight. I keep my chin straight up and high and I feel the tears and acknowledge them. I have learned to lean the other way on the wall you cannot see, but I can feel. On the arms that carry me through from day to day. Against the shoulder which is strong and sure and on which I can lay my head to rest. I feel the weakness surround me and as it grows thick again I lean further towards that arm of strength and depend on it’s mercy for this day. I feel a loneliness that rises from who I am and from where I’ve come. It is in my muscles and my bones. It is a loneliness that has led me to that one who strengthens me, who holds me up from day to day, who is in my heart and who’s blood mingles with mine in sorrow and in joy. On that wall I lean.
Wow, Hanna, I just read this. It is incredible and bring me to the edge of tears myself. Not jsut from the writing, and while I have no idea what loss you refer to, I know loss all too well and even 7-8 years later, it STILL hurts! Not as overwhelmingly, sure, but nevertheless it is there, a distant gnawing in the background, under the new joys, new love and laughter.
ReplyDeleteI really related to this:
"They are not the tears of shame because if they were I would willingly fall off and cry it out and let my Lord rescue me and place me on new solid beautiful ground. I would do that if they were. But they are the tears of loss."
My favourite part, wirting wise, is surely this ending:
"and who’s blood mingles with mine in sorrow and in joy."
SOoo well put. That reminder and knowing that He is acquainted with grief too and bares our sorrows helps us not so feel alone in our utter isolation that loss can so easily bring.
Dear Michael, I had no idea that you had read this and commented. I am glad that you liked it and I sincerely hope that it did not hurt you in any way. Seven years ago on May 29th, 2011, I stood by my daughter in the hospice as she breathed her last. At that moment my world changed from before to after. I'm surprised to read this now and know that I had been brave enough to share. Grief is long and lonely as you know but it always comforts me when I find something that someone else wrote about their own experience with it. Thank you for reading and for your kind words. God bless you.
DeleteSorry for the typos. I must slow down when typing! :)
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