I had to kick those tears into the corner so many times and just tell them, "No. I'm not doing you now." I just don't want to feel all this. If I feel it, it's real and I may just crumble. I've picked myself up from a lot of gross, I'm not completely positive that I can open myself up to the depth of this reality without completely shattering. I'm like the broken glass that has tape around it. As long as you leave the tape on, the glass will stand, but if you take the tape off, it's going to be a pile of shards.
Many of the people that knew me at the conference knew me because of what I've been through. That's okay with me, but it's hard to acknowledge. And the few that weren't immediately nice or kind, I wanted to grab by the hair and shake. The compulsion to yell at people, "Do you know what I've been through?!" is almost impossible to overcome. I do it, but the mental Shannon is pretty mad at the real Shannon about it.
Then moments of ohhhh hit. Like looking out the plane window and seeing that the moon looks exactly the same distance away from me in the plane as it does from the ground. Space is just space. Aaron is here somewhere and the Bible says I get him again. Why do I feel like every day is a punch card to that? I want to enjoy life more than that. I just cry out, "Lord, I want my husband!" The sad thing was, I was crying that before he was truely gone. I just want my husband. I want my baby. I want my husband. I want our home. I want. I don't know how God can make this right. I don't know how He can work this for good (Romans 8:28). And what I really don't get... the thing that keeps me up at night, the thing that trips me and knocks me flat: if God loved Aaron like God loves me and Aaron had to do all that he did and stand like he stood and pray and believe and keep standing and we still ended up here, if that's what God had for Aaron, what am I wanting Hiim to have for me? I hate that thought. To my core, I hate it. But I feel it and I ask it and I wonder. I trust God for more than that. He is my Helper. He is my Defender. He is my Savior. But what happened here, Lord? Help me see so that I can believe. Help me. God help me, I trust You. I do, but I feel stung and broken and lost.
I feel abandoned. I can't say my husband died. I can't say I'm a widow. I can't say I'm a single mother. I just can't. I can say I've been abandoned. I can say I'm on my own. I can do all this stuff. I'm capable and strong. I'm no sissy. I remarked to a friend the other day that I was an abandoned woman. She reminded me that abandoned implies he wanted to go, which is So not the case. He fought and fought and fought some more. He did. I know that. We decided that I'd just have to say he was stolen so I'm really a victim of theft.
God, help me. I hurt.