The Tree Out Front

Can I tell of my sadness…yet again? Have I made the point clear? Why is it that when I sit to write my thoughts it is only discussions of loss that flow from my mind.

I’m not “ok.” Oh, I want to be there! I long to feel normal and whole. But, I am not…I’m broken and hurting. I can manipulate my pain into other forms, such as ministering to another who is hurting, but I can’t eliminate it.

I’m forging something very strong in my heart. A trust, a faith, an understanding… It will be most useful in the future. Right now, though, the iron is still blazing hot and being pounded and shaped into it’s usable form.

I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to say that everything I think about somehow still leads back to Jana. This thinking started when she was in the hospital. She was all I could think about…in my worry. Now, she is all I think about…in her death and my loss.

Passing the cemetery in cold weather bothers me. I can catch a glimpse of the back side of the cemetery when I drive by on the highway. I believe and understand that she is not there. That body, that tent, is what was buried there. But, it was the flesh that I hugged! It was her feet that needed wool socks on to stay warm. Her nails that had the special color on them for each holiday. And, the curve of her hip that I laid my hand on while snuggling before bed.

These things, and so much more, I miss so badly… I cannot bear the fact that she is gone and her body is buried in that cold place. She doesn’t belong there. There is no place else… This is me trying to reconcile such a loss in my life. Me trying to pick up my little broken pieces that are scattered all over the ground.

The upward trajectory towards living again is quite slow. It’s progress is almost undetectable. I am not losing ground, at least not in any wholesale way. I will go backward momentarily, just to go forward a few steps more. It’s like the growth of a tree. Slow, continuous, and ever working it’s way up. Until one day, when you look out at it, standing at the window with a cup of coffee in your hand you say, “That tree is taller this year! Remember when it wasn’t hardly taller than the house? Wow, time flies…”

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