Encouragement · Hope

The anonymous injustice of life

I’ve always felt that life was unfair.

unfair

A blind man could see that.

Then came the accident and Ryan’s violent death, which proved, beyond a reasonable doubt that I was right: life is unfair.

Do you think life singles us out?

Or, that life is fundamentally against us?  

If that’s true, how can we ever Hope?

For years, I was paralyzed by the anonymous injustice of life.

I mean, is there anybody in charge out there?

I felt all helpless because I’d woken up so many times, only to realize there is no magic wand that fixes everything.wand

The magic was gone.

So, since life is unfair, what do we do?

We Hope again.

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Hoping. Again.

We have to.

It’s in our DNA.

Living without Hope takes away the now-ness of life, and wipes out the future.

But Hope, that beautiful four-letter word, restores our Faith.

I’m living proof!

dawn

Encouragement · Grief · Hope · wounded Mother

True Confession: My private ride on the Grief Train

Remember all the Stops: Denial, Anger, Depression, Survival. Acceptance.

I realize my grief is a little unusual–the grief of losing a child.

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It’s against the natural order that parents outlive their children.

The death of a child is unnatural and unfair.

It never occurred to me that I would bury my son.

It came out of nowhere.

And so for me, Depression lasted for years and years(12 years).

On the outside, no one could tell.

Not even me.

I acted my way thru so much during the first 12 years: the death of my father 6 months after Ryan; the births of my third and fourth sons; and our family’s move from Texas to Alabama.

Everything was on autopilot. My Depression happened on such a subconscious level that I couldn’t recognize it or name it.

But the symptoms were there: lack of interest,  low energy, and no creativity.

So, I got off the Train at the Survival Stop, built a home and am living there now.

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When you’re just surviving, the best thing you can do is survive, while fully functioning.

On our Train, Survival is a full Stop, and Acceptance is something I’ll take up later with the good Lord.

I’m surviving, but I’m not accepting Ryan’s death.

Maker:0x4c,Date:2017-12-6,Ver:4,Lens:Kan03,Act:Lar01,E-ve
Tyler’s HS Graduation ’18

 

 

I just can’t get there now, besides, I know the neighborhood here.

I’m not lost.

dawn

 

Encouragement · Grief · Hope · wounded healer

Riding The Grief Train

I told you we were going to get thru this together. And here’s how.

When I was a little girl, there was a miniature train at the park. And you would board the train and it might have a Putt-Putt Golf Stop, a Botanical Garden Stop, or a Horseback Riding Stop where you can get off for a while.

Now I’m building my own railroad, with a miniature train called “The Grief Train.” And every Stop comes from the ride of my own life.

Here are the Stops this train will make:

  • Denial
  •  Anger
  • Depression
  • Survival
  • Acceptance (You will notice I never get to the “Acceptance” Stop.)

I can’t.

I cannot accept Ryan’s death. But that’s just me.

On this train, I won’t suggest you stay on it all the way till the end, without getting off, like well-meaning church people tend to.  I will encourage you to get off at every Stop, for however long you need to, including the ones you don’t want to get off at.

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None of the Stops should be confused with your ultimate Destination. But they can be.

It’s your train too if you’re up for the ride.

God might suggest we make every Stop because God is all about learning, and the way we learn is to go thru every Stop of the learning process.

Stop, unboard the train, listen and learn what’s there, embrace it as best you can, and move on whenever you’re ready. No shortcuts.

This is not microwavable.

That’s not how God ‘bakes’ a person. We’re more like God’s personal crock pot. Low heat, all day long unlike American gods (money, power).  

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God’s favorite speed is slow.

dawn

Will continue…

#myscars, #grieftrain

 

Family · Grief · wounded Mother

The worst day of my life! (part 1)

Our SUV is rolling over and over and flames are beginning to eat through my passenger seat, searing my hamstrings. The final rollover lands us on my side. My door won’t open. Everything I touch is glass, gravel, and weeds on the shoulder of Highway 83.

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The fire ignited under me and is crawling toward my 7-year-old, Ryan, sitting behind me in the backseat.

Our happy family of four are trapped like POW’s. I can smell the skin on my legs burning. Then, I am numb. No, more like frozen. Gradually, my brain begins to thaw.

I open my eyes and every one of us is on fire!

My baby, Tyler, is!

My seven-year-old, Ryan, is!

My husband, Ron, is!

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And it feels like we’re all melting. Both children are trapped in their car seats. Can a person be on fire and frozen at the same time?

This is only the beginning of the worst days and years of my life.

dawn

(See you Thursday for part 2)