I have been wanting to blog for some time now, but am having a hard time finding the words.
Today, my two year old daughter, instinctively, before the rest of us was aware, realized that it was Friday. Today of all days, Daddy should be here. Alea (the early riser like her father) started before 7:00 am, fussing and crying, asking why Daddy wasn't here because she misses him and she wants him... The day felt harder and harder to bear, like a heavy weight resting on my body, so that I would sit down and think, "Surely, I'm going to be crushed." Finally I realized the simplest thing. It's Friday. This is the first week we've been back to "routine", and we always woke up on Friday morning knowing today is Daddy day :) It was Lynn's day off and our day to be a family as much as possible. We pushed away the financial stresses, the week's ups and downs, comings and goings, our beloved ministry :), to love each other. Friday's were very special, and Alea remembered.
It's amazing how the simple things can effect a family in a time of loss. It was just a day of the week. And yet it left Alea kicking and screaming a lot of the day, Roya refusing to rest and acting out in her "passive-aggressive" way that says, "I'm hurting inside." And me - knowing that without the tender love of a special friend, I may not have made it through the day. I didn't know what to do with myself. What do I do with this day?
All these "firsts" feel like a foreign land... like my life becomes a dark and strange place where "normal" no longer exists. My normal is wiped out, gone. And I am left trying to create a new normal for the "left behinds".
Roya says to me, "I want to die. I wish I could die Mom. I wish you could die and Alea could die and I could die." This isn't actually as morbid as it may sound. But in her mind, if Daddy's in heaven with Jesus, why can't we go too? Can't we go with him? I tell her I feel the same way. I wish I could go to heaven, too. It doesn't feel good being left behind.
As soon as the three of us sat down for supper tonight, I knew it was coming. It was all over Alea's face. Just before we bowed our heads in prayer, Alea yells, "Why isn't Daddy to sit in the chair!!!!" She didn't get the words out quite right, but communicated well enough how aware she was of our empty chair. What an adjustment.
Every day is different. Every "first" is difficult. And every breath feels intentional. And yet, I feel the sweetness of Jesus' presence at all times. "Even the darkness, it is not darkness to You" (Elizabeth Rhyno quoting Psalm 139). I am foolish enough to revel in God's goodness even when I think I could die from pain and grief. Oh, how I miss my husband!!!! How I wish for more of him! It wasn't enough time to live the lifetime with him I intended to. So what now, God?
Whether I want to go forward or not, lead me in the way everlasting!!!
Thank you to all my friends and family. I feel your prayers. And I need them desperately.