Stepping Back into a Scary Place

WritingSometimes sadness gives way to success, if you want to call it that. I can think of several gals who, after experiencing or currently experiencing really super hard things, started writing about it and became internet-famous. I remember praying once that I would be okay with a lifetime of mediocre blogging if it meant I didn’t have to experience the things those gals have had to. Because I’m super deep like that.

As it turns out, I have nothing to worry about. For me, sadness simply gives way. It dries me up. It takes me to a dark, lonely place where, even if there are people out there who understand and maybe want to walk me through it, I simply do not want to go there and thus I don’t.

I just looked back at my blog. The last post was April 8 and the post before that January 28. Prior to this year, it could be said I spent too much time on my blog. And now: nothing.

January ushered in a six-week period of hell in my heart. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis is just such a terrible thing and no words can adequately describe how it feels to watch someone you love experience the devastation of that. When my mom died in February, I knew it was coming, so I felt like I should have been a little more prepared. People lose their parents every day, right? But I don’t. I hadn’t. And then suddenly I did and in truth, I wasn’t ready for it and I’m still angry about it. And it’s been almost six months. So six months shouldn’t still be preventing someone from writing about it, talking about it, crying about it, right? But there is a place deep inside me that feels like I used up all of my grief capital with people ages ago and I should really move on now.

Likewise, our foster care story turned the page into a really sad chapter in February as well. And as it happened during the same month of caring for my mom during her last days, we just closed the foster care book for a while. For almost six months.

Next week we open it back up again and add two babies to the chaos of our lives and I must say, it doesn’t feel nearly as romantic as it did the first time we welcomed a new child into our home for a short stay. Our experiences with the system have tainted me, frightened me, and made me second-guess our involvement altogether.

And yet, here we go. Life is just incessant in its constant ready-or-not-here-I-come railroading of my existence.

But then, what would it be if we just stayed in the same place forever?

I imagine…it would be death.

 

So I didn’t want to go to church today.

City Presbyterian Church in Oklahoma CityEver have one of those days in which you just want to tape a roll of bubble wrap all around you so you neither feel anything nor break in transit? Yep. I had one of those days today. I’m back to the whole thing of thinking I don’t really show stress that often, but when I do it’s always with tears and always in public. That was pretty much me all day today. Just feeling a combination of exhausted, alone, misunderstood, and all around yucky. I did not want to go to church today. I made myself go, but only because Chloe was scheduled to play the prelude. And as much as I’d love to tell you this is one of those stories of pushing through and going anyway and being so glad you did, that really didn’t happen yesterday. I sat in the furthest back corner all by myself on purpose. I walked out when the “meet and greet” time happened. I cried through most of the service and have no idea what Doug preached on. I took communion, but I’m wondering now if maybe I shouldn’t have. I then left a note for my girls telling them I would be in the van and I bolted 5 minutes before dismissal because I didn’t want to have to talk to anybody.

And I don’t have any lovely way to wrap this up other than to say that some days are just like this. And I wonder if it’s possible to feel the foster care equivalent of postpartum depression and if that’s maybe where I’m going with this.

I have no idea. So I hope tomorrow will be better and I’ll try again next week.