"This isn't fair funeral"

I was at what a friend termed "This isn't fair funeral" today. You know the type. Well if you read my blog it would be losing your son at 15, or your daughter at 2 weeks. It would be any of those angel mom's out there who had to endure their losses. Today I attended a friend and family member's sons funeral. He was 28. I am not totally of aware of the cause, and I don't want to venture a guess. It doesn't matter. He was a wonderful ladies son. He will be missed by her every second of her days for as far as her mind will will her to imagine. I mourned for her. I mourned knowing how much her heart will ache. I hurt that she would feel this enormous weight, that she will carry it the rest of her years. I watched her other children. I saw the fear in their eyes, and the yet also a strength that they were borrowing from those around them. I watched a father wonder how he would make it without his right hand man. She reached out to me. I think to have me tell her you will make it through, but how could I say those words when I haven't made it through. I listened as a bishop told his listeners how important it was to endure our trials well. Then I looked back at my last two years. I have not endured them well, but I am still standing, a vastly different soul than I was before. I stood in line to visit with the family. I listened to the idol chatter of those around me. It struck me hard. Is this how people were at Loughlin's funeral, at Rhiannon's? I do not remember. Did they laugh and talk about nothing that was important at all? Was it just another day for them? My heart started racing. The air felt heavy and unusable. How could they seem so unaffected? A mother's heart is mourning. A family's life has stopped. A son is gone. Is the weather or football something appropriate to talk about? Can't you feel their soul screaming in agony. Don't you understand that him being in a better place does not console a mother's desire to see, feel, hear her son just one more time? This was my first funeral of this type since I lost my son. On the way their I couldn't feel, but once again I think it was just me protecting me from those agonizing feelings again. I am so sorry another mother had to bury her child today. I hope her family stays with her longer than the standard two week period for it takes a lifetime to get over a loss such as this.

So dark, new med..Hope it works better!

Yield

The Abyss, that I seem to creep into more frequently than not, is getting darker, deeper, more intense with the sound of nothing. I grow weary with each passing hour. How long has it been since I felt peace? Have I ever felt peace? My heart is heavy with the emotion of grief and yet I am powerless to feel it or show it. The guilt seems to get in the way of the sensation of living at all. I long for this life to come to an end. I long for serenity of any sort. I am tired of the prying eyes, the eyes that don’t understand where I am at or how I could have got here, the eyes that say, you are as a disease, I want no part of you. Is it just me? Am I to blame? Am I the dirt under your feet, the dirt you brush off as you head into your seemingly perfect homes? Do I frighten you? Am I a nightmare? Grief, Sorrow, and Guilt are not contagious. They are not the plague that you stay up nights worrying about infecting your family. I am not He, He that is after your soul and yet you look at me as if I were. There is no compassion in your being. No commiseration for what I must feel. Over and over in my head, I live that morning. I can’t get past the certainty that I killed him. You say it is irrational; it was an accident, that I never meant any harm to him. I loved him but I did more than harm him. He is gone because of me, because of my error, because of my ignorance in knowing that days should not be hurried but should be enjoyed. Now the enjoyment is gone. Life will never be as it was. Life is something I must tolerate now, if I can. I never sense the warmth of Him as I use to. The sadness blocks the Spirit. The exhaustion obstructs the reception of His blessings. Maybe He tires of me, as I tire of my life. I have asked for so much. Maybe I am out of offerings. Maybe it is time to yield.