My house has arrived. My house. That I will live in and feel prisoner in at times. My house that my Aaron and I had so many plans for. A faith house. A house that he lamented losing when we rushed to the hospital last March. "There goes the house." So many times I have questioned if this is the right move or not. And, in the end, what it comes down to is that it was time to make a move and this made the most sense. It provides stability to my kids (and me), it's what their daddy talked and talked to them about. It has Aaron and my hands all over it. It's a culmination. It's a project that I felt God shut down over and over again and now He's letting it go through. Lord, give me patience.
And then watching my kids play ball tonight and seeing all the other dads helping and knowing how involved Aaron would be (and was even last year). Seeing leaves on trees and realizing that he's not seeing them this year. ... and resting in the knowledge that he's got it so much better than I do. I believe that. It still hurts like hell though.
Learning that my new nephew will be named after Aaron... I realize that is a way to honor him, but it tears at me. Probably only because it's only happening because he's gone, but still.
It's just been too much and all this hurt is probably just a long time coming. I want to numb it. So many of my prayers any more are, "You have to fix this, God." That's as far as I can get. That's the most I can get out. I know that it is enough and it is okay, but I want to know that He's going to fix. I want to KNOW that He's going to be my All in All. I'm still so unsteady in that right now. Sometimes the breaking sounds like a welcome reprieve.