God has sort of left me alone for the past year and three months. It's been a whirlwind of emotion as I have dealt with the loss of my mother and both maternal grandparents. It's been ugly at times, difficult. It's been painful. I have found myself resorting to old ways of dealing with trauma... by withdrawing into my shell and isolating myself. I trust no one outside my tight circle. I talk to very few people about the pain of losing my mother. I have pushed the notion of involving myself in organized religion even further to the back of my mind.
But something has been going on lately. I feel Him stroking my back, encouraging me to wake up. It came in the way of a phone call from a friend a few weeks ago inviting me to join a ladies' Bible study with her. I have already seen some of the reasons why God wanted me to be there, and I know there must be more He waits to show me. And then I wake to read a brilliant blog post about writing from an old friend from childhood and high school, Lisa, who talks about my own grandmother and her infamous writing advice. Words I have heard too many times to count. Words I need to listen to.
Truth is, I have been holding back so much here on my little blog. Because I can't say there is anyone who wants to read about the reality of grief. That it doesn't go away. That it stretches on an on with no end. That I have dreamt about her for a week and a half now. Not nice dreams, but stressful dreams of trying to call her, trying to get to her, trying trying trying. That she's not the only dead person in my dreams. That everyone I have ever had some emotional connection to that has passed has appeared in my dreams lately in some capacity. That this is so exhausting some days I just want to crawl in the bed and pull the covers over my head.
No one wants to read about how I am still surprised that she is really gone. That now I try to fill her role as best I can for my brothers and my father. How I know I will never be able to pull it off, especially since I can't talk to her for advice.
No one wants to know about the memories that don't go away. Not the good ones, mind you, but the ones you want so desperately to forget. The Friday morning I knew she was gone from us a full 36 hours before she breathed her last breath. My time helping to care for her in the hospital after her brain surgery. The way she looked in her wheel chair as I pushed her through Walmart. These are things that don't go away even if you try your best to talk them our of your mind.
You see, this is why I am not writing. Because I don't think there's a person on the planet that wants to hear about this. I don't want to hear about, and I actually lived it all! But then, I realize, maybe that's the whole point. Maybe it's not what people want to hear about grief, but it is the truth about grief, this bizarre human emotion that no one seems to want to touch. Perhaps in exposing the ugliness of it I could make it more tangible, more real, more human.
So I guess it's time to open myself back up in more than one way. It won't be an instant change, as it has not been an instant shut-down, but there's no denying the need my soul has and the prompting I have felt from my Father.
Wake up, O sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.