My Birthday

I wonder around in a fog, thick mist of colorless cloud engulfs me. I bump into things and people trying to make my way around. Looking for Ron, knowing he's not there, but hoping, just hoping that I'm wrong and he'll come around the next bend and be as surprise to see me as I.

Wounded and shell shocked. Abigail and Hosanna walk beside me in this fog. Pretending that the day is sunny and clear. Life moves undisturbed, without any notice of the condition of our hearts, the depth of our loss, the tears hiding, waiting for a thought of him to flood our eyes. Whole Foods a familiar place. We walked this isle not to long ago, together and whole, chatting unpreoccupied not knowing that next time my visit would be solemn, quiet and filled with longing for the past. Maybe I should walk somewhere else.

It's my birthday and I'm alone...The girls meander in and out of pages of books at Borders, trying to lose themselves in a story or a cleverly painted illustration. Anywhere but here...the fog is too thick to see our future and we are to scare to look anyways. Has it only been a week since we last saw him and held him and felt his warmth?...or was it a life time ago? How many more birthdays will come and go before I'm whole again and see them and hold them close?

Can one run away from loss and pain? This sorrow is deep, abiding, sustaining, like the very blood that pumps my heart to life. There is no escaping it unless my blood stands still and my heart stops. I must go back to the pages that eased the pain last time. The word of God, alive and full of promise and hope. Though all I feel is despair, knowing is comfort enough. The pain being so great there is no room for any other feeling. CS Lewis, vastly consumed by loss, wrote it all down and his words of his long ago pain mingle with mine and I no longer grieve alone.

I'm not yet tire of crying. Tears are a release. They confirm what I know and allow my heart to relax in this sorrow. Sometimes I cry without tears, my body squeezed dry as a rag after the washing machine gets done with it, but it's not as satisfying as when the flood gates open.

I want to tell others if only to find comfort in their pity. Poor young widow...but at the same time I want to hide my pain and pretend it's just another day and maybe if I'm good at pretending I'll believe and for a moment, even a second I won't hurt. To much of me has gone to heaven...very little remains and what is left is so fragile, so stunned, so lacking I don't know if it'll be of any use to others, specially my five children.

Another season of fears and challenges. another season of endurance. Another season of deep pain. Lord, I'm weak. Help me......Do what must be done next. I walk without spectacles with profound nearsightedness. Perhaps it's best. God's protection on us. The view will only scare us and we might attempt to run the other way, prolonging our grief, unwilling to let us carry us to glory.

I have run away from home for just a few hours, though home can't run away from me. Soon I must be back and open presents he picked for me. I wonder...did he suspect he wouldn't see my surprise look upon unwrapping each? He was generous, as I left, the dinning room table was covered with color...if only my heart wasn't colorblind....

He has entrusted me with too much pain and sorrow and too much responsibility, which scares me just as well. I want just enough to humbly survive this, anymore and it will only burden me. Besides joy I lack wisdom in some things. How will I manage so much when there is so little of me left behind. He had been with me longer that half my life. Who was I before he came to me? Who will I be now that he's gone? Another chapter added to my book of life...can we end the story now? But more will be written down and the pages must turn and be filled with my steps in words and deeds, the ink runny in several spots as the tears fall and the fog consumes and dampens the pages...