That Kind of Day

It's the kind of day I don't know what to do with.

I want take every heavy glass anything I own and smash it against the wall and scream the entire time, but of course, I can't, so I don't. What kind of lunatic does that anyway.

And I want someone to scream to, not necessarily at, but to, and there is no one so I try to keep calm, look good, pull off the day well...and I end up with a body tight with tension and a throbbing head.
Then I find myself once again a sobbing mess on my knees on the floor in my bedroom with no words other than, "Please fix this." Knowing it's a kazillion to one chancce of it being "fixed". It's more likely going to be survived and learned from.

And I finally give in to the pain and nausea and take meds to help me get it under control, and I doze off....only to be awakened by the sound of children screaming at each other over...a Lego piece. And I know it's not really a Lego piece.

It's about the fact they are in the habit of not sleeping, and they have been up past 2 am clamoring around in their skin since Anna landed the role of Willie Wonka, and I wonder if they even know why. I have a guess that it has something to do with Rob telling them if he could be any character from any movie it would be Willie Wonka, and it just so happens that the ony production is the 15th, five months from the time he died.

It's about the fact they are anger and hurt, too, and all the "emotion" projects and "processing" doesn't change the fact they are angry at God for letting him die and angry at him for leaving in the first place...and while screaming about how he abandoned them, miss him more than their words could ever express.

So I feel overwhelmed because I'm the only one in this. Oh, I know. God is in it. I do KNOW that. But I'm the only human, and I'm tired. And I so desperately want a break, and there isn't one, and really, two hours away doesn't solve anything because when I come home, Anna still hates being the organizationally-challenged artist, and Robert still doesn't want to go to friends' houses because it hurts him that they have a dad and he doesn't but he doesn't want to tell them that because...really, who gets mad at friends because they have dads?

And I'm tired of well-meaning people who throw out opinions and judgments and don't care about knowing the truth, and they don't know.

They don't know what it is like to hear their son say he doesn't "want to be manly because men just lie and leave." And they don't know what it's like to hear their daughter ask, "Why did Dad not love you so much he'd leave us?" And they don't know what it is like to lie in bed at 2:00 am wide awake with no one to talk to about it and no one to simply reach over and touch so you don't feel totally alone. But they have all the answers.

And they are more than happy to tell me who to date, when to date, and not to date at all...because after all, *I* don't need a man.

Of course, they aren't the ones asking God to send a godly example for their sons so they can learn that not all men lie and not all men leave...and it's okay to be a man because they can be men of integrity and honor or for a man who can show their daughters that daddies who believe they are worth fighting for do exist.

And today I am grasping for a vision. Shoot, I'll just take directions for the next step. And I just want to go in my closet, close the door, and lie on the floor and find some kind of quiet, except I can't...because I can't abandon the kids, and there is no one else to step in. If I don't do this...whatever THIS is....it won't get done. Then I think I'll just drop off FB so no one hears me scream, but then I get emails and phone calls telling me Satan is trying to isolate me so he can defeat me and by disappearing I'm letting him win. I laugh because I realize I'm already isolated.

And there is no cavalry.

And I question all the progress I thought we'd made, and I wonder if we've healed at all or if I am wishful thinking. My counselor assures me we are doing great. Dear God, what does "bad" look like?
I feel that I have no place to rest. If I say anything, I get cliches and pat answers, and if I don't, I get told I'm an easy target and willing isolation victim. And I don't have the energy to smile and say, "Fine," when people ask how I am so I can avoid all of the above.

And my back aches and my shoulders ache and my head aches...and my heart...aches.

Yep, it's been that kind of day.

Obviously Here

The children are in bed. The television is off. The house is quiet, and I am feeling...lonely.

It is one of those moments when I want to reach over, touch someone near me, and feel grounded. Instead, my fingers tap across the keyboard. I reach out through the ether and wonder if anyone is reaching back.

In truth, I know they are. Friends around the world are lifting my family...and especially me...up in prayer, sending emails regularly, making the phone calls to hear my heart via my voice. People are reaching out. People are pulling us in.

Still, tonight, I feel lonely.

Tonight I feel heavy with the prognosis of three months for my mom. My mind is speckled with thoughts seemingly absurd and pointless that I try to stuff into the you-can't-be-serious box, but in truth, I am mentally taking out emotional treasures, turning them around in my mind, trying to figure out how to keep them intact as much as possible while not letting them shatter me.

I have spent untold time today trying to remember the recipe for Mom's dressing. I think I know. At the grocery store I buy the supplies to make it...three or four times...make sure I can get this right...before she isn't here to tell me how to fix it if I get it wrong.

I go through my monthly bills, think about Christmas shopping, figure out in my head if I will have enough for what I want to buy the children or if I need to tighten the belt a bit more each month. Then I think of other family members, do a quick count, figure out a general budget for everyone else...

...except Mom.

According to the doctor three months might be a hopeful guess. Three months...Christmas.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

Christmas shopping for Mom has become an event for me. I would go out by myself, have some pumpkin spice coffee, and head to a specific clothing store. For the last few years I've bought Mom clothing at a fun store next to the bookstore where I buy the children's school curricula. I wonder how long I can avoid that store, driving into the parking lot, and looking at the clothing store I have always enjoyed visitingin search of just the right thing for Mom.

In my mind I can see the store through the windshield of my car. I can't move. I only stare...with no reason to go in.

Will she even be here Christmas? What if she is, but evidence appears that God is not going to work a miracle? Which is harder: having no one to buy for or not knowing what to buy for someone whose life will not offer her time to use it? Then I shake my head like an Etch-a-Sketch. "Harder" doesn't matter. Whatever comes will be hard enough.

In a moment of emotional numb, I punch in a text to a friend. "My mom is going to die." I stare at the words...and erase them. He knows already. I know. Telling him again won't help. Seeing his reply, "I know, babe. I'm so sorry," again won't help.

I toss the phone to the empty side of the bed, pull my pillow against me, and lie quiet.

God, I feel so lonely.

I hear Him speak through the words of a verse that has repeatedly come before me throughout the last two weeks.

The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.--Zephaniah 3:17

A smile comes to my face as I remember a phone call from earlier in the day.

The doctor's office called to clarify some information concerning Mom. Laura, the woman who spoke with me, had lost her dad to the same cancer Mom has. Laura's heart was so tender, and her words, so gentle. The five-minute call turned to thirty as we discussed my hometown (where she owns a historic home), the chocolatier on The Square who makes fabulous truffles, and the pain of feeling powerless. Then she said, "You'll be here Monday with your mom, right?" Yes. "I have to go up to the house this Friday. I'll pick us up some truffles, and Monday you come early. We'll sit, eat truffles, drink some coffee, and talk."

The Lord your God is with you...with truffles, coffee, and compassion...

He will quiet you with His love...as I lie on my bed, my mind filled with treasures that make me ache...that bring me such joy...

I sigh deep. The ache still throbs in me...in Him. The loneliness of pending loss is still real...but so is He...Earlier today He reached out His heart...in the form of a phone call and some truffles...and found me...Now, in the quiet, I reach out my heart...and find Him...