It’s been raining a lot lately. Not outside in the heatwave
warning of Kansas City weather, but inside. Inside me, inside as the tears spill
over again and again. I can’t seem to stop them from falling. You’d think I
would have grieved sufficiently for my deceased mother, but I can’t stop the
crying sometimes, I miss her so much. She’s in no pain, has seen my father
again after a long time, and other loved ones who have preceded her. Best of
all she in the presence of the Lord, who I know with absolute certainty, told
her, “Well done good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Lord.” I
hope I don’t muff it so badly that I miss out on those words, missing all the
joy and love and peace of the next life, seeing loved ones again.
Then the tears morph into what if I lost my only child, my
beloved son. It’s irrational in some ways, but in other ways it’s not. I don’t
know if I could survive that kind of pain and loss. He is at the command of the
U.S. Army, and has to go and do as he is ordered. My pride in him is beyond
measure, but while I always told him the military was a noble profession when
he was young, I didn’t think he would go through with West Point and become an
officer in the Army.
He is no longer my baby, my toddler, my school-ager, and teen
that I can protect. He is standing on his own two feet, 25 years old. A safe Subaru
car, a MG Midget sports car, and a motorcycle being rebuilt slowly in his
garage. I guess he’s got to get it out of his system before he settles down, if
he does. I am no longer holding my breath for grandchildren. Will is 67 and I
am 59. He seems far away from marriage and children.
But this grief and fear grips my heart and will not let go.
Both parents gone, I am parentless. But my son, who I have poured my life into
since the day he was born he, is still with us. Perhaps I am
projecting the wildness, stupidity, and addictions of my life. Will keeps reminding me how
level-headed our son is. But Just like Cat Stevens sang, “It’s a wild world out
there.”
So where is God in all this? Where is the comfort of the
Holy Spirit, where is the intercession of Jesus? I have been in and out of the hospital
three times this past year with the Bipolar Disorder. Where is the break? New
meds, new doctor, repeated ECT’s. Yet, I cry, a lot. I fear. I grieve. There is
only one verse that says Jesus wept. I am not becoming very Christ-like very
quickly in that area. Something needs to happen to me. Grief comes in cycles. I
grieved off and on for my dad for years, but my mom hasn’t eased up at all. It’s
almost constant and it’s been nine months.
Went to their house today, for the last time that I would be
able to look around, but it was empty. I visualized furniture and my parents
sitting in the easy chair and on the couch. I saw my bedroom, the posters on
the walls, the lava lamp. I was such a difficult child. I pictured the office
and their bedroom, and all the things that filled the basement and garage. Empty, of all that had made it a home. And I
cried. It’s been closed on, keys handed over. It’s done.
I wish I could say I was cried out, but even as I asked
where God is in all this, He is surely near me, holding my hand. I just can’t
feel it right now through my emotions, but the intellect, battered about as it
is, tells me the Trinity has not left me bereft of all comfort. I feel it from
my family, my husband, and close friends who rally around me. I want to feel
his touch and his words directly, but I hear what he has to say through loved
ones, the bible, and church. It’s all I have for now. God says his grace is
sufficient for me. Even through the pain, it’s there upholding me. I am just
not aware of it. Hasten the day that I am once again joy filled.
No comments:
Post a Comment