I’ve noticed that things that didn’t used to bother me, do. Things that should bother me don’t. Anytime I get a phone call from an unknown number I kind of freak out (which doesn’t make too much sense, I didn’t talk to any strangers the day of their deaths, why would it freak me out so bad?) and sometimes I get cold sweats for no reason. Heaven forbid I can’t get in contact with a relative that I should be able to get ahold of (i.e. husband 20 minutes after he gets off work, brother who should just be sitting at home) because then I freak out and cry when I finally talk to them. It’s a good thing I have such understanding family, because sometimes I act like a loon.
I dream about them, sometimes, and I’m actually happy about it because it’s always good. I’ll dream we’re hanging out playing pool. Eating a meal together. Happy things.
It’s interesting how grief changes you, especially during the first few months. I’m still in the early stages of grief: I can still remember their smell and their laugh and the way they felt when I hugged them. Sometimes I pick up the phone and expect that I can call and tell them something funny.
Even good, happy things in my life are hard to enjoy sometimes. I went to this marvelous play with my two cousins and Aunt, and half the time I was sitting there I was going, “man, Mom would love this!” How can that not make you a little melancholy?
Sunday my Pastor said “You can’t have a testimony without a test.” The only test I could think of in my life recently is my parent’s death, and I couldn’t think anything besides “Why did they have to die so I could have a testimony?” I mean really, what does that even mean? I left the sermon in tears (sorry Tony, it was great, it just struck a chord).
Logically my faith is not at any crisis point. Tragedy happens in life and it is a byproduct of a world filled with selfishness and greed and depression and alcoholism and other debilitating sins. This tragedy just happened to affect me directly. So it wouldn’t be fair of me to lose my faith the minute that tragedy strikes me.
But it is hard sometimes to find God in all of this. I am comforted by the Psalms in these moments of anger and ignorance – hey, they had trouble finding God too. I wonder why He is silent in these times we feel we need Him the most? I wonder why I cry out for some divine comfort and receive none?
I don’t think it’s because He has abandoned me. On the contrary I think He is just as present as He has ever been. I think He is always walking beside me, but sometimes I forget to listen. Sometimes I get so caught up in what I want to hear or feel that I forget to listen and be open to those feelings.
I need to remember to listen more. Feel more. And sometimes, give myself a break.