“I am confined and cannot escape; my eyes are dim with grief. I call to you, O LORD, every day; I spread out my hands to you.” Psalm 88:8-9
Five days until we end our ninth month since Becky died. I’m struggling again. I try to think into ‘why’ I’m back in a grief black-hole and I really don’t know. I’m hoping that if I can figure out what brings this on I can avoid it in the future. I want to be done with tears over nothing and everything. I want to be over being sensitive in my relationships. I want to enjoy life and people and the world around me again and not feel compelled to hole up somewhere curled in a little ball. I want to miss Becky, but not in a debilitating way.
This grief that assaults me is not welcome. It feels incredibly selfish. It doesn’t seem healthy to just pretend it isn’t there, but it also seems neurotic to sink into it and wallow. It calls to me to reject adjustment and change and accommodation and instead to lash out in anger at that which I can’t change. I feel like a two year old not getting my way.
Do I rage at grief and hope it turns tail tucked between its legs and leaves? Do I command it to leave in the name of Jesus? Do I embrace it and spend some time in grief’s dark womb? Do I eat it away gradually becoming the size of my sorrow? Do I somehow die to grief so that I can go on living?
No answers right now just questions clothing deep sorrow. And life goes on . . .
“But you, O God, do see trouble and grief; you consider it to take it in hand. The victim commits himself to you; you are the helper of the fatherless.” Psalms 10:14