I open my eyes, and it is clear another day has dawned. Cursing that I have to start another day, I roll over and force my feet to the floor. How can I get through yet another day with the heartache that weighs so much that it pushes me beneath the surface? Over and over, again. Feeling guilty for cursing, I shuffle to the bathroom, look in the mirror and wonder who is looking back at me. She has aged at least ten years. Wrinkles and gray hair have settled in where smooth skin and cute highlighted hair used to be—only a few weeks ago. And the sparkle has left her eyes. Everything is dull. Who is this person looking back at me? She is a stranger.
Disappointed by what I see, I drag myself out of the bathroom, away from that horrible, room width mirror (whose idea was that) to the nearest chair. It’s as far as I can go. Exhaustion rules my body and forces less movement, which causes more exhaustion. It is a vicious cycle.
Maybe this hits a little too close to home for you. You’re not sure you will make it through this day, let alone another and another. Every breath is labored, and you just want to go back to bed. I know. I see you. Here is what you need to know—you are not alone.
There’s a long line of people who grieve just like you. Moms, dads, siblings, and grandparents who constantly murmur, “Why,” under their breath just like you. People who, just like you, are drowning in that question that has no answer.
You are weary and need rest. You need a life preserver. One that will keep you afloat, because you’ve been treading water and you can’t do it anymore. You need a life preserver to keep your head out of the crashing waves — the ones that won’t stop knocking you down. I’ll wait here while you get it.
When you put it on, your body relaxes, you float on your back and you find yourself looking straight up. There, you realize, is the true Life Preserver. You took your eyes off Him, but now you see Him. You feel Him. He is holding you up. He never left you, but you were fighting so hard to save yourself that you lost sight of Him.
Giving in to His presence and leaning in to Him, you will make it through the day. For a while, every morning will look like the same. You will feel broken and lost. You will ask why again. Then you’ll look up and see your Life Preserver. He is there. He never leaves.
Keep looking up!
As I was reading this article I felt like I was writing it. When you described your daily ritual I thought of myself. This year on June 9th was my eighth year without my son. Someone said it gets easier, but it changes you. The mind never rests.
Thank you for your articles.
It does change you. Five years hit us all so hard. It’s always hard, but I guess it was some sort of unknown mile marker. We weren’t expecting it, so it knocked us all off course. I hope the articles help in some way. You are not alone!