I had to finish a family tree project for my son last night...my children wanted to help me finish it, but I just kept getting all choked up as I looked through old pictures for us to use. I felt like Todd could have stepped right out of some of the pictures and hung out like we used to. I also knew I was going to have to write August 2, 2009 under his birthdate...I really didn't want to do that. I finally asked them to go on to bed and let me finish it alone...I hate that they absolutely understood...I wish they didn't have to understand such things.
I waffle back and forth between knowing I can do this--I have to do this--and wanting to crumple up in a heap. Thankfully, most days are the kind where I know I can and have to, but I have had a few too many in the last month of the crumple in a heap kind. It will get better. It always does. I fear I am becoming a broken record of ups and downs. I almost feel like someone should slap me and tell me to "get a hold of yourself--get over it and move on"..."you don't have a husband...lots of women lose their husbands"...."your children don't have a father...lots of children never have a good father...," but I know I would punch back if they did...and the fight would feel good for the moment, and I would probably win because I would kick and scream and punch so hard they wouldn't know what hit them...but once my anger was spent, everything would still be the same...and I would have hurt someone else intentionally and that is not me...I would feel worse not better. So I will cry to God, knowing that He can handle my kicking and screaming and not be surprised or hurt by it...that He wants to crawl inside my grief with me is almost more than I can bear...and certainly part of a mystery I can never fully understand. He holds onto me when I lash out (even when I cannot or do not want to hold onto Him). He will hold me until the fight is gone, and I am quiet again in my spirit. It will get better. It always does.