I feel the sensory overload, the beginning of a wave. All things become so overwhelming. My mind is just racing of images of my little girl. This memory, that what if, image, brown eyes, smile, chubby cheeks, smell...WHERE IS HER SMELL!! Please God your promises of "but a breathe" are too far away tonight. Your "soon" is my lifetime, how do I get through another tsunami?
I am scared this time, I don't want it. It's like when you have to wait in line on the high dive you just wait and wait one step after the next taking you closer to your inevitable fall. I am very scared of heights. I would always get to the top, get as far as the handle bars would take me and turn around. I didn't care that I was called a chicken all the way down, that humiliation was worth not falling. I wish now I could turn around..."eh, actually nope, I don't think I will do this again" but I know the turn around point, although it does exist, the aftermath of that is much worse than "chicken".
I am tired of the pain being an absolute, I have to face I have to feel it. Thank God He does give me handle bars for the in between times but tonight I know I have to let go. I have to let the grief become its pain. The knots toss and turn within my core, tears surface with the even the slightest movement. The W H Y screams from the silence in my stare, the U G H claws at my broken heart. For every hour there is a season a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance. Last night Jeff and I danced in the middle of our Kitchen floor, tonight I am too sad to even move...much less dance. Tomorrow I will have to pick Dylan up from school and I will have to explain to him, most likely with tears streaming, that this weekend is going to be hard. I miss Kelsie, I miss Dylan being a big brother. I am going to have to tap into myself, my thoughts, my actions, in a way I never thought was possible. The pain is deep, the grief is dark, my appetite is at a loss, my silence wails for answers. My big red bow days, as great as they are, are almost always accompanied by a wave...eh scratch that...a tsunami. Tonight I am putting my anchors of truth into the ground, I will ride this, feel each thundering wave slam onto my heart, each piece of debris pierce my skin, with white knuckled fist I am going to hold on.
Oh God of hope fill me with Your joy, and Your peace. I trust in You, even in the storm, I know with You I will overflow with hope. By the power of the Holy Spirit, I cling to Your sustaining anchors. Hold me close Jesus, hold me close.