Losing my husband and the father of my four-year-old son eleven months ago has brought me to new places. My emotional meter bounces all over. I’m grieved then I’m furious. I’m confused and I can’t remember many details. I feel lost. I ache for my son. I want my former home. I long for a fresh start. I cannot surrender my former family.
Over there is the amazing resource in the person of God. My Hope, My Redeemer, My Restorer, My Love, the One who gave me Jared, the One who took him away.
This doesn’t make sense. I am so uncomfortable with this confusion I feel inside. How do I rationalize the goodness of a God who is okay with the suffering my son is enduring at this time? How do I accept what God accepts: brokenness, pain, loss. Hitting lows I haven’t known before.
In my heart and mind I am aware of the death before resurrection principle that Christ modeled. I have lived this principle in my pre-Jared years. I know down to my core that resurrection is coming.
But I want resurrection now. I don’t agree with this. At all. It feels so wrong and so bad. I want it over and done with. Immediately.
Many comforters have said to me “I cannot imagine what you are going through.” What a kind, gentle statement.
Early in my grief, before I became aware of my silent, pervasive disillusionment with Jesus Christ, I boldly responded to these compassionate statements with a proclamation. I said this was not the worst I had seen in my life. I will get through this, I said, because it didn’t compare to the pain of my childhood. Of course it didn’t. That thought made sense to me at the time.
It hurts more now than I ever expected.
I had hope in my husband that was stronger and deeper than the hope I had for anyone else in my life. This hope died the day he collapsed in front of my son on the playground.
Eleven months ago everything changed and here I am still sorting.