No words

We’ve read every single sympathy card, every word. A recurring theme presents itself ‘there are no words.’ Tonight I sat trying to comprehend the boiling mass of emotion raging in my gut. I can’t. It’s been said that humans fall short of comprehending things for which there is not language. There is no language for this kind of grief. I am not sad, sappy movies make me sad. I don’t hurt…that word describes a stubbed toe or a sunburn. No, this desperate, gnawing, ever-present beast cannot be described. I stared into the distance and wondered if there will ever be a moment when I don’t burn. Will there ever be happiness again?

Today God gave me a gift, a day without the black. I seized it. Will and I spent the day together. We drove to “the city” and met with the artist who will render my tattoo memorializing Damon. We had no idea where we were going so Will concentrated on driving and I concentrated on navigating. It felt so good to be somewhere I had never been before. There were no memories waiting around the corner to assault me. There was just me and my man.

This brief respite was bookended by tears and ripping pain. We took my car “Bertha” (yes, we name our cars). Bertha almost never went anywhere without Damon because I almost never went anywhere without him. It hurt, more than I can describe, to see his side of the car empty. To watch that ever present movie in my head play back is silly little face looking up at me. I cried.

On the way home I was overwhelmed with the number of times Damon and I had taken that exact road, back and forth to his doctor in OKC, him asleep in the backseat. The last time I was awash with relief, he just had a virus, he would be fine. I’m haunted by what might have been. I ask, what if? What if his doctor had caught it on Friday? What if the ER doctor had taken us seriously on Sunday night? Why did I go home? Why did I listen? I wonder, was there something wrong with Damon’s little body that he could never have been fully rid of? Something about that rings true but I fear I’m answering the questions the way I want things to be and I want truth.

Could things have been different?

Will says no. In the midst of my tumult he stands steady. He is sure, certain. This is one of the many, many things I love about this man. He is so solid. He is sure that it was Damon’s time but the questions swirl in my head. I don’t voice these questions to anyone because I can’t bear to hear the speculations. I need to take them to God but I’m terrified.

God and I have walked intimately enough that I know what is required for Him to heal, to answer. He will not force Himself into any area of my life where He is not invited. You see, I have to unwrap the chains, pull away the bars and drag open the doors to my wounds. I have to be part of the process. I have to look at it. I’m terrified of what will happen when I stare into the gulf of this wound; I fear it will swallow me whole. So He waits. He is not impatient with me. I find that He is not even remotely as hard on me as I am on myself.

Soon, perhaps I will begin to unwind the binding that has only just stanched the bleeding and allow Him to begin the excruciating process of true healing. Soon, I will have the strength, I hope.