No Sleep -
I hate writing when I feel like I will be judged for it. And maybe I will and maybe I won't. Maybe it's more that my brain is telling my heart not to be vulnerable and real...but if I don't write - I feel like screaming....and so I write. Whenever I write so real, so honestly, I feel as though the comments (or lack of them) drive the words "Unimportant" through my heart. As if none of this matters.
And it might not to anyone but me. But even if it just matters to me, it does matter. It matters so much.
Sleep has been absent the past 3 nights.
I went to the chiropractor today (under the hopefully correct assumption that it was a bad adjustment) and when he walked in, he asked me how I was, and I immediately said "I'm not sleeping. Like.....at all.", and he looked at me and said "Wow. No, you are not.".
The past week was awful. Awful news and awful realizations and awful feelings that no matter how much you pray for something, God most likely has another plan that you will not like for a very long time.
When I'm sad, I stop eating. I've dropped 5lbs in just 10 days. When I grieve for one, I slip into grieving for another, and another, and another. When I don't sleep - things go downhill pretty quickly. When I think about cancer and my friends, I cry myself to "sleep" at night.
And then I don't sleep.
When I think about losing friends to cancer....the nightmares come back. Uninvited. They'll be worse after my friends go to Heaven, but for now, they linger in the confusing aspect of barely-there-rest....reminding me that even my subconscious cries in grief.
When the nightmares return, so do the flashbacks. Flashbacks about Avery leaving this broken earth. Flashbacks so strong and real that even if I'm in the middle of a conversation, I'll stare down at my shoes and see pinestraw underneath them. Or in the middle of a sermon in church, I look down to my finger tapping consistently on the pen. Anything to be moving, anything but sitting still, which was a defiance that the world wasn't spilling out of control that day of his funeral with his daddy's voice breaking in love. The rest of the people in church look up at the stained glass window, and I wrap my deep teal shawl tighter around me, my reminder of him, and try to sing, as I see the wind blow the ivy on that little hill.
Impossible. Impossible and heart-wrenchingly true.
By Saturday night, I was a broken, horrible mess....I didn't want to eat, write, edit, move, think, or be anything for anyone.
Between no sleep and nightmares and flashbacks, it was a terribly quiet weekend as I tried to ride it all out.
There are words, millions of words that cannot be spoken, be put into sentences. My heart and brain simply can't even wrap around reality right now. I found myself not even knowing how to just.....be. I was so thankful Sunday only required soaking in, and no thinking. Thinking is something reserved for days on the beach, the sun warming my skin, snuggles with babies and my dog, and conversations that remind me how much listening means to me (thank you Amanda and Jackie - so so much for that on Thursday night).
Sunday evening. April 13, 2014.
And honestly, I can't expect it of you when I can't even expect it of me. Because there are no words. There is no fixing this. Sharing scripture with me only makes me think that instead of hearing me, you have only sought to tell me that you think I do not know that our Savior is faithful.
Oh, I know He is. He also understands my weeping heart, and catches every one of my tears in His bottle. He weeps with me, with us. I am not forgotten or alone, even though grief is oh, so lonely. He understands my complete confusion and hurt for the friends I'm losing, and is carrying us all in His everlasting arms.
Heavy, fast, rippling panic sears through me every time I think of the 2nd anniversary of Avery's home-going. I don't even know how to catalog time or emotions or memories because I'm so shattered that it will be 2 years. I don't understand how it could be. I have to shut myself down so fast so I don't go into SVT just thinking about it.
Some things never leave you.
The sweetness in this darkness is that the joy of those beloveds will never leave my memory either.
The hope in this devastation is that God will never be less than what we need.
The light shining at the end of this darkest valley is Heaven, and that we will be there soon.
The promise to our broken hearts is that death will be defeated and cancer too.
And it will be SOON. Jesus, thank you.
With love always,
~ Jean Marie ~