The Pit

(I wrote this at the beginning of last week, just didn't get around to posting it until now)

As someone who has been through grief, the hope is that eventually I can get to a place where I help other grievers. To be far enough along in my grief where I can stand on the edge of "the pit" that the person is in and help pull them out. Well Im not there yet. Not even close.

A young boy's tragic death last week and then news of a friend's husband being diagnosed with cancer this week have all sent me back into the "pit" myself. Im scared, Im anxious, Im planning Abigail and Nathan's funeral in my head when I lay down to sleep. Im constantly looking over my shoulder for death. Panic sets in if Nathan is one minute late coming home. And I KNOW KNOW KNOW that death is not the end. I know that! So why am I scared? Why can't I confront all the suffering in the world with the faith that I know I believe? Because I'm human and dang it- sometimes human weakness will always be there. Even Jesus said, “Father, if you are willing, let this cup pass from me; however not my will, but yours be done.” Luke 22:42. He was scared too. Death is scary.

And as much as I try to talk myself down of the ledge or rationalize with myself (worry is useless, nothing has happened yet, try to live in the present moment) it never works. In the end I am back in the pit with images of picking out headstones and planning funerals. I am checking on Abigail every other hour during the night with my phone in my hand ready to call 911 because I just know I will find her dead. Its just another weakness that is brought on because of grief. Before when tragic things happened, I could look the other way, convince myself that it wouldn't happen to us. But now, no way. I know bad things can and do and will happen to us.

When I hear of tragedies it always comes back to our own and then to the unknown of what is ahead. And it leaves me unable to function. I spent yesterday morning in bed for an hour trying to convince myself to get up and just make breakfast. Back to the basics of trying to get myself to do just one thing and then go from there. It worked, eventually, but the whole day I just felt heavy. Sleep didnt come and in the end I just begged Jesus to take it all away. Take my fears, take my worries, take my anxiety. Today is a little better. It takes me a shorter time to recover these days from bad news when I hear it. So in the end it leads me back to prayer, which is good I suppose. Praying for the families, begging God for miracles and learning to accept when He gives them even if they dont look the way we want them to. Hopefully one day I can get close to the pit to help others without falling in myself...today is not that day.