“Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say “My tooth is aching” than to say “My heart is broken.”
People keep filing in the room and into the line. The line to say goodbye. I stand at the end waiting to receive and help others grief. One person approaches me, ‘Hayley, She was a great lady. I’m so sorry for your loss. And as happy as I am to see you, we really need to keep you at school, you’re coming home too much.”
My third funeral in a year. I have come home too much for the worst reasons.
So I’ll admit it.
My heart is broken.
Grief and death has broken my heart. There has not been time for it to heal. Each mention of death breaks it again and I continue to limp through life. How much can it handle before it can’t be fixed? I already feel like I’m at that point.
“I once read the sentence ‘I lay awake all night with a toothache, thinking about the toothache an about lying awake.’ That’s true to life. Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief.”
The grief is not so much about the person, it is sometimes, but mostly everything is tainted by their deaths. Good days are when I manage my pain and function properly. Bad days are when I can’t fight my pain anymore and I flee. The days when all I want is to get drunk and forget the world. When I have to yell and curse at God because I don’t know how better to deal with my anger and grief. I have to yell at the one in control because everything is chaos and He is the only one who can make sense of it.
And I’m angry at Him because I don’t know how to move on. And I’m angry at Him because He was in control when all of the death and pain happened.
“Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. The real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not ‘So there’s no God after all,’ but ‘So this is what God’s really like. Deceive yourself no longer.
When Ty was in the accident we all prayed. We prayed in great number and in great faith. How could God not save Ty? We were sure.
We prayed for life.
We received death.
Nancy and Ty lost their son. Kendall and Adair lost their brother. We all lost a friend and a brother in Christ that day.
And I can’t handle it. I don’t know how to handle it. So I flee when I can or stay silent when I can’t and cope the only way I know how, by building walls around my feelings and putting on a brave face. Maybe if others think I’m alright then I will be…such flawed, messed up thinking.
“I see people, as they approach me, trying to make up their minds whether they’ll ‘say something about it’ or not. I hate if they do, and if they don’t.”
I want some people to say something. I want most to leave me alone. But in the midst of all the crap I have never been so thankful for my friends. As grief and death continue to break my heart, God uses you to strengthen me.
For all the silly questions everyone MUST answer. For the constant stream of facebook messages. For the lack of verbs and abundance of stupid abbreviations and made up words. For sharing our dreams. For complaining about school and ATMs and not being able to find Dr. Murray. For knowing that when I walk through the door I will be greeted by “Kill” and it’s the best thing ever. For playing Boggle over Google+. For feeling bad when you make a poorly timed death joke. For coming to Ihop because I asked. For driving me to the airport. For almost mooning us that one time. For pointing out that I say ‘gold’ weird. For their patience when trying to teach me any game because I’m the worst at listening to instructions. For thinking we want to see you naked. For being okay that I will NEVER play Race for the Galaxy. For knowing when I need space. For wanting to go to group therapy together. For letting me steal their socks.
For making me laugh when I didn’t know I could.
For the security of knowing I will never be alone in this life because I have you guys. And distance will never be an issue. Especially since we will live in a refrigerator box together.
I know I don’t say it ever but
I really love you guys, like a lot. I can’t imagine life without you and I am incredibly thankful that God put us together.