A totally random post about random stuff.
This weekend we "fall back" and gain an extra hour. FYI: I don't want an extra hour on the weekends. You think I have lost my mind, huh? We look forward to Mondays in our house since that fateful Friday in April. Friday's are the worst, followed by Saturday and Sunday--although church always provides some kind of emotional release. Yes, we can't wait for the weekends to end, they last too long and we can't afford to keep ourselves constantly preoccupied. It doesn't work anyway, because "fun" things are what normal people do on the weekends...for us it is a reminder of the gaping hole that our son left behind.
If only I could fall back. Fall back to early Spring, to easier times, to life feeling certain and happy and content, to knowing where, what and who I am.
Have you ever fallen backwards on a roller coaster - the kind that takes you high into the air then drops you one direction and then the other? The kind that throws your internal organs for a loop? I loved roller coasters. I don't think I do anymore. I have been on one for over six months and my internal organs are constantly roiling higher and higher then I am dropped back into reality. This ride has left my heart beaten, battered, bruised and broken, that is, what's left of it.
This past weekend I vacillated between irrational thoughts that I had actually fallen back to a more joyful time, where I kept waiting for Ian to text or to call or simply be sitting with me chatting about something totally random. But then I would spring forward to be present in the here and now filled with tears and sorrow. Roller coasters have nothing on a bereaved momma.
When Ian left for college last year I will admit that the quiet of the house was nice. Now it is a curse. And I find I keep "torturing" myself with his songs as my ringtones and watching the very few videos that we have of him and listening to him sing (no jokes about that being torture, much like God, his singing is a joyful noise to me! - one of my favorites you can download: Oh How He Loves). I listen to his Pandora stations and wear his pajama bottoms when it is cold. I look through pictures and post on Facebook. And it is torture because these activities are simply--at best--the late evening shadows of him.
Evenings...evenings are only slightly less worse than the weekends. Again, not enough to do.
And then there is night--most nights--feel like the dark night of my soul. Except for one recently. I think I mentioned in the "Yours Alone" blog that I don't dream or rarely remember them if I do. I had a miracle a week ago. On occasion I still take Ambion when sleep eludes me for several weeks and this was one such night. Sometime during the night, by the grace of God, I briefly awoke from my Ambion coma to remember a dream I was having. I remember Ian sitting next to me just chatting like olds days. Clearly it wasn't a conversation that was important--I remember no details--it was just important to have. If only we could fall back.
Recently I heard a great sermon called Night Song by Rev. Jason Twombly. He discusses how we all have a song we sing and that suffering brings out our most genuine songs loud and clear (he says it quite more elegantly). He mentions that some of us are in the "dark night of the soul" as was he when he gave the sermon. His wife had her own Homecoming 40 days before.
My song frequently changes...In the beginning I could only sing I Want You Here and Need You Now. At times it is The Bitch is Back (no ones favorite). Most of the time it is Ain't No Sunshine. On a rare occasion, and more recently, my song is It is Well with My Soul - only God could put this song in me. Peace that surpasses ALL understanding. I hunger for more.
While I wait through the dark night of my soul I cling to God's promise - that joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30).
Joy come, come.
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