Tuesday, March 22, 2011

A blog observed...

Dear Sara,

So many thoughts go through my mind each day. Sometimes I have a hard time sifting through the noise to find meaningful patterns.

Missing you is now status quo. It’s something that I assume I’m doing. I occasionally surprise myself with short moments where I realize I wasn’t. It’s not that I’m not missing you during that brief period, I just stopped thinking about how much I miss you.

I’ve been thinking about how we both had our “own” lives, even while sharing a life for almost 15 years.  We each had unique passions, which we let the other pursue without complaint (or at least without too much complaint.) I’ve been pondering if that may ultimately help me in the healing process. I look around the house, the yard, the garage, and I see the things that were uniquely you. I also see the things that are uniquely me. There is plenty of uniquely us, too. Time will tell. When I see the uniquely you, my sadness is that you’re not here to enjoy doing those things anymore; but, it’s the uniquely us stuff that hurts more.

I’m still finding a lot of resonance with CS Lewis as I read through A Grief Observed. Some people say that times like these are a test of faith. Lewis didn’t agree with that thought, “God has not been trying an experiment on my faith or love in order to find out their quality. He knew it already. It was I who didn’t. In this trial He makes us occupy the dock, the witness box, and the bench all at once. He always knew that my temple was a house of cards. His only way of making me realize the fact was to knock it down.” Much like Lewis, my faith in God feels more fully examined, and exposed, than it does tested.

I also find myself agreeing with Lewis that I will someday no longer add to this blog. I don’t know when, but it will come. Lewis recognized that his journals were less a “map of sorrow” (as he had originally thought they would be) but served more as a safety valve against total collapse.  In regards to both his continued writing and the process of sorrow he said, “It needs not a map but a history, and if I don’t stop writing that history at some quite arbitrary point, there’s no reason why I should ever stop. There is something new to be chronicled every day. Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a new landscape.” I don’t think I’ll stop writing anytime soon, but I may find myself writing less frequently between now and then.

I find myself regularly looking at the wounds on my arm, hand, and wrist, and thinking about you and how they mirror my heart. The worst of the injuries have healed over, but they will be visible for a very long time. The pinkish raw color will stay for another few months, maybe even longer. Someday all that will remain will be scars, always out there to be seen, but less noticeable than they are today.

I miss you. I love you. Give Miranda a kiss from daddy.