Wednesday, October 15, 2014


Lessons I’m learning from years of grief and anger. . .

“Life and death were so unpredictable. So close to each other. We existed moment to moment, never knowing who would be the next to leave the world. I was still in it, barely, and as I looked up from the ashes, everything around me seemed so sweet and so beautiful. The trees. The stars. The moon. I was alive -- and I was glad I was.”
Richelle Mead (a writer who writes young adult fiction, in the fantasy/vampire genre)

No matter how much I writhe in pain, scream, curse God, withdraw from polite society, or play the noble martyr, what is still is. I can't read enough books to explain it to myself, can't try to intellectualize or walk in the desert long enough to understand. It's just there and, by its nature, it is beyond my comprehension.

About 17 years ago I began this dance with grief and anger when my husband left me after 30 years of marriage. Then he died. Then my beloved father died after “successful” open-heart surgery. Then my little brother was murdered in cold blood. Then my dearest friend and music partner Mike died from mesothelioma. I was reeling, feeling so lost, betrayed by God, cheated by life. Anger and grief were so intertwined in my gut that I couldn’t find my way out.

Maybe until I stopped trying so hard. Somehow, over time and through the grace of God (thank you, Lord, for staying by my side through all of this nonsense) I began to realize that life had really changed forever. No matter how much I begged, I wasn’t going to get 10 minutes more with Mike. I couldn’t get the Earth to rotate backward and take the bullet out of my brother’s back. I couldn’t bargain with God for a few more years with my dad. My husband was dead and gone—there would be no heartfelt apology from him. These things were written in stone.

What choice do I have? Do I remain forever frozen in the past, cursing my fate, or can I really move on? I must trust that God’s plan will forever be something beyond my understanding. I must be strong and embrace the uncertainty of this life. This was not my plan. But it never was in my control anyway. I have found it incredibly difficult to really accept that fact, to acknowledge that my life is only mine in the sense that I’m occupying this body in this time and place. I have so little control over all the things that happen to me and around me. I’m just along for the ride so I might as well enjoy the view.

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