i love you never felt like any blessing.
I wouldn't say that lyric is true, but right now it feels pretty accurate. This pain and loss is too much. I wonder what necessitates it, honestly. Why is this necessary? I sit tonight thinking that, if not for my kids, I could completely close in. Just stop. Breathing is a whole lot of work, much less this facade of tasks. I remind myself that I'm lucky. That I'm living and I need to truely live. I'm not interested in losing a year in grief and goo over something I can't change. I grieve, I mourn, I cry, I question, but I am not interested in becoming lost in the maze of this loss of a soulmate. My midwife said to me once that I wasn't the average patient. I assume because I wasn't looking for someone to carry blame for me. I'm not sure. I know it had to do with perspective. I guess I wish at times that I knew what normal would do right now. I keep circling thoughts.
Lost.
Aaron and I had a number of very candid moments this year that are frozen in my memory. One of those was in the hours after we learned of my cousin's tragic death. Jeremy was only two years older than Aaron and I and he was taken in a motorcycle accident in August. He left behind his wife, five children, and a legacy of testimony. Rich, rich testimony. I could say so much about Jeremy. How loving and tender-hearted he was. How he tested limits in his youth. How he lived through so many things that should have killed him and lived on. How he turned from a lost boy to a father-figure for so many wandering kids. How he rebuilt his family out of ruins... The best. I'm sure that doesn't even scratch the surface. His wife, family, and friends have rallied. They have pressed on. They have LIVED his testimony and continued on, honoring him in all they say and do. It is truely beautiful and heart-wrenching to watch. How much has been gained by this earthly loss? It can't be counted.
To return to my point though, Aaron was truely broken by Jeremy's loss. Obvious reasons exist, but I got a snapshot into Aaron's mind that day as he sat before me broken.
"I don't want to do that to you."
"What, Aaron?"
"Leave you like that. I don't want to do that to you."
There it was. All out. The doubts, the fears, the stakes. Many things we didn't allow to fight their way to the surface. All there at once in all their horror to look in the eye. As I say, poking the beast. Grab him by the neck and drag him out. Let's deal with this.
"We're not going there, Aaron. We stand in faith and we're going to keep standing in faith."
This was the first of several conversations looking at mortality. Well, suck it, death. I'm not interested in your bull. In fact, I'm over it. Tonight is a night of numb. A night of whatever. A night of bite me. It's like I'm laying on the beach at Michigan again, all but passed out from being beaten. I just don't care. Do your worst. I don't know if you could damage me any further at this point.
I wouldn't say that lyric is true, but right now it feels pretty accurate. This pain and loss is too much. I wonder what necessitates it, honestly. Why is this necessary? I sit tonight thinking that, if not for my kids, I could completely close in. Just stop. Breathing is a whole lot of work, much less this facade of tasks. I remind myself that I'm lucky. That I'm living and I need to truely live. I'm not interested in losing a year in grief and goo over something I can't change. I grieve, I mourn, I cry, I question, but I am not interested in becoming lost in the maze of this loss of a soulmate. My midwife said to me once that I wasn't the average patient. I assume because I wasn't looking for someone to carry blame for me. I'm not sure. I know it had to do with perspective. I guess I wish at times that I knew what normal would do right now. I keep circling thoughts.
Lost.
Aaron and I had a number of very candid moments this year that are frozen in my memory. One of those was in the hours after we learned of my cousin's tragic death. Jeremy was only two years older than Aaron and I and he was taken in a motorcycle accident in August. He left behind his wife, five children, and a legacy of testimony. Rich, rich testimony. I could say so much about Jeremy. How loving and tender-hearted he was. How he tested limits in his youth. How he lived through so many things that should have killed him and lived on. How he turned from a lost boy to a father-figure for so many wandering kids. How he rebuilt his family out of ruins... The best. I'm sure that doesn't even scratch the surface. His wife, family, and friends have rallied. They have pressed on. They have LIVED his testimony and continued on, honoring him in all they say and do. It is truely beautiful and heart-wrenching to watch. How much has been gained by this earthly loss? It can't be counted.
To return to my point though, Aaron was truely broken by Jeremy's loss. Obvious reasons exist, but I got a snapshot into Aaron's mind that day as he sat before me broken.
"I don't want to do that to you."
"What, Aaron?"
"Leave you like that. I don't want to do that to you."
There it was. All out. The doubts, the fears, the stakes. Many things we didn't allow to fight their way to the surface. All there at once in all their horror to look in the eye. As I say, poking the beast. Grab him by the neck and drag him out. Let's deal with this.
"We're not going there, Aaron. We stand in faith and we're going to keep standing in faith."
This was the first of several conversations looking at mortality. Well, suck it, death. I'm not interested in your bull. In fact, I'm over it. Tonight is a night of numb. A night of whatever. A night of bite me. It's like I'm laying on the beach at Michigan again, all but passed out from being beaten. I just don't care. Do your worst. I don't know if you could damage me any further at this point.
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