Isaiah 41:10 Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
September 13, 2011...14 months since my daughter died...but today it feels like July 13, 2010. With the exception of the month of July itself, will I always be sickened and frightened by the numbers 8, 13 and 19? Will there ever be a month when I awake on those days not wanting to open my eyes...not wanting to remember? Will those dates ever be simply just that...dates on a calendar? And if the day comes when I do wake up NOT realizing what it represents in my mind, does that mean I'm letting go? Giving in to what I don't want to accept? Moving "forward?" Maybe it's me who refuses to let those days go. Maybe it's me who refuses to climb out of this dark hole I feel trapped in, suffocating because I can't breathe. Me refusing to look for a way out. Me refusing to open my eyes in the darkness, looking for a light...a ray of hope...a hand reaching down to pull me up.
We're all familiar with the 23rd Psalm, whether you know your Bible or not:
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
He leads me beside still waters,
He restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for His name's sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for You are with me,
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life.
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
I refused to have that Scripture anywhere near Brittany's services. Not printed, not prayed, not inferred, not spoken. Because, while it's supposed to comfort people in times of death, it would have made an already emotionally crippling situation even more depressing.
But now, 14 months later, I realize that Scripture represents something much more powerful and profound to me. Yes, I'm still struggling to climb my way out of "the valley of the shadow of death." I still feel like I'm going to suffocate to death by the darkness of the pit that consumes me. But instead of looking down, stubbornly refusing to look for a way out...I've looked up...and there it was. A small light. And in that light was a hand reaching down for me. A kind and comforting voice whispering my name. I'm sure it had been there all along, only I was too blinded by my bitterness and anger to see it. Too overcome with grief and rage that I didn't want to look up. My ears were plugged and my eyes firmly closed. But I was dying...emotionally, mentally and spiritually. I could feel myself slipping further and further away into the darkness, succumbing to its hopelessness. But the voice became louder as it called my name. And so I looked up, desperately grabbing for the hand that was reaching down for me. And I'm now beginning to understand that the tighter I hold on, the brighter that light becomes. And I'm clinging on for dear life.
I finally have hope. I've finally found the one and only person who is strong enough...whose arms are long enough to reach someone like me. Me...a weak, bitter, broken soul whose life I had almost given up on. Am I out of my "valley of the shadow of death" yet? No. But I now know that by clinging to God I will find my way out. The darkness grows dimmer as the the light grows brighter. And while it's still painful to do so, I'm learning to breathe again. Has my grief lessened? No...and it probably never will. But do I have hope now? Hope that God has something greater planned for me than just a life of darkness and despair? Absolutely. I just have to keep holding on.
So now, my "Quest For a New Normal" has taken on a much greater meaning. A journey to not only find a way to live my life without Brittany physically in it, but also a journey to see where God leads me. And I'm realizing these journeys aren't separate. They aren't forks in the road where I have to choose which way to go. They are one in the same. And I will keep holding the hand of the only one who can light that path for me, showing me the way out. I'm not on this journey alone anymore. It's still an extremely painful one, and certainly one I wish with all my heart I never had to begin in the first place. But I'm not alone.
I know there are still plenty of dark days ahead of me. Days when I can't get out of bed. Days when I can't grasp the reality of this nightmare. But on those days, I have no doubt that God will be there, quietly holding me...and crying with me. All I have to do is have faith...and hold on.
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