Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Sunsets

I have been sitting here trying to figure out what to title this post. I decided on Sunsets because it sounded much better than my other ideas: Should’ve’s, Could’ve’s, Change, or my personal favorite, Things I want to yell violently, but will refrain from doing so for the sake of what is left of my sanity. Sunset is a perfect way to describe what is happening in our lives today. The sun has set on yet another of our loved ones and we are trying very hard to figure out how to face the next day without her. This is much harder than I thought it would be. No matter how ready any of us thought we were, we weren’t.

I could tell you how hard it was to watch them take Kay away Monday night. I could tell you how my Dad had to physically hold Sophie back or she would have held onto Kay forever. I could tell you how hard it was to sleep without her here. I could tell you how I rushed around frantically last night washing blankets and towels so that Sophie didn’t have to see any traces of Kay’s blood. I could tell you how much it broke my heart to be at the funeral home both yesterday and today. I could tell you about writing Kay’s obituary today. I could tell you about how this evening I will be taking time to pick out music to play at her services. I could, but I can’t.

I should tell you about the beautiful and very touching candlelight prayer service we attended this evening at F.P.B.C and how grateful we are for the congregation that held us in their arms tonight. I should tell you about the generous outpouring of love we have been witnesses to in the past few days. I should tell you about the immense feeling of gratitude that I have for the friends that have surrounded us throughout this journey. I should tell you about how I know for certain that Kay arrived safely to Heaven. I should tell you about how many people have come to us and shared their love for Kay with us. I should tell about how I seriously doubt that Kay knew she was this loved before she passed. I should, but I can’t.

Change happens. Hope changes, my Mom said. Time heals all wounds, they say. Life moves on. Change happens. Change is good, they say. It inspires us to try new things, find new pathways in life. Change happens. Change is a constant, you cannot stop it. No matter how much you rebel against it, you cannot prevent it. Change happens. I should be able to stop change, but I can't.

Things I want to yell violently, but will refrain from doing so for the sake of what is left of my sanity: I want to yell at you. Yes, you. Which you? Anyone who will listen, I suppose. I want to yell about how it felt to watch my Aunt Sophie come sobbing to me while waving an e-mail in my face. I want to yell what it felt like as I watched her physically collapse as the tears consumed her while I read the letter she was holding this morning. I want to yell what it felt like to know that my Aunt Sophie has been hit with a horrific blow and they just keep coming. I want to yell at you for leaving us when you were needed most, for not holding on for just a few more days. I want to yell at you for being so cowardly to not even say goodbye in person. I want to yell at you for taking away my hope, because now it is officially gone. I have no more hope. I want to yell at you, to tell you that I honestly don’t feel like going on anymore, that I don’t have the strength to keep doing this, that I don’t really want to be part of a life that is this hard to hold onto. I want to yell at you, but I can’t.

I can’t because I don’t have the strength to do. I can’t because I have cried until I honestly believed I could cry no more and yet, the tears keep falling. I can’t because I’m so angry, I’m not sure I could control my words. I can’t because I am so overwhelmed by simple grief that I can’t function. I can’t because . . . I can’t.

1 Comments:

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