I have been terrified of reading a book that I have so desperately wanted to read for quite a long time. I was afraid because I fear it might just his hit too close to home and I'm one who fears the pit of depression, therefore avoiding wallowing, or anything that will make me focus on my sadness. It's how I am. I'm fearcely private about my insecurities, having had them thrown back into my face so often as a "bad faith confession" quiet honestly I find this absurd, you can speak in faith without avoiding the truth of the current situation. "Your being very unkind right now"-truth "but I have faith that next time you will make the choice to be kind" -faith
So often the church wants everything to be candy coated, but I'm not that type of person, sometimes I hurt, but I would rather not have my pain ripped apart by the opinions of the so heavenly minded they're no earthly good. Please don't mistake the salt your pouring on my wound for sugar, I would rather you leave my wounds be or cover them in prayer if the sight of them bothers you, please don't tell me that they are ugly. I know they are, I didn't ask for them.
In grieving my grandmother alone...
. there is no one here grieving her with me.
It's so isolating. I often feel as though I am pretending going about daily life as though nothing happened.
But it did.
I am here.
She is gone.
My heart aches as a piece has been torn from it.
Everyone walks around like things are fine, but she's gone.
And I'm here.
I finally picked up that book today, as I underlined the passages that clarified everything I struggle with, this passage said everything my heart has been screaming as I try to go about life as usual
Getting over it so soon? But the words are ambiguous. To say the patient is getting over it after an operation for appendicitis is one thing; after he's had his leg off it is quite another. After that operation either the wounded stump heals or the man dies. If it heals, the fierce, continuous pain will stop. Presently he'll get back his strength and be able to stump about on his wooden leg. He has "got over it." But he will probably have recurrent pains in the stump all his life, and perhaps pretty bad ones; and he will always be a one legged man. There will be hardly any moment when he forgets it. Bathing, dressing, sitting down and getting up again, even lying in bed, will all be different. His whole way of life will be change All sorts of pleasures and activities that he once took for granted will have to be simply written off. Duties too. At present I am learning to get about on crutches. Perhaps I shall pres ently be given a wooden leg. But I shall never be a biped again.
A Grief Observed