A Band Aid

I haven't written a word in many months. Oddly enough, I've had more thoughts in my head, more words in my heart than I ever did before life changed. I simply have been unable to sort through them... to share them... to gently hand over with tentative hands my gaping, dripping wounds, only to have someone try to slap a band aid over them. Every word I type at this moment is a stuggle. Of course, I'm writing for me now - so I guess I'm ready to hand over some things. The fact is, I'm dressing my own wounds at this point. I've applied pressure (LOTS OF PRESSURE), I've protected myself against infection, and I've covered them up. I cover them up with laughing, with busyness, with pure determination. That way, if someone tries to slap on a tiny band aid, it's just an extra layer, not an inadaquate bandage. Ironically, my dad is the one who taught me how to do this. This was not an overt lesson, nor was I an attentive student. He just modeled, and I watched. My dad had a pretty crappy childhood by the world's standards, though he seemed to recall it with fondness. He was always poor, one of seven children. His mom was often sick (requiring a lengthy stay in the hospital), and his dad drank more than his liver could handle. You would never hear my dad complain about these things though. He spoke of foster parents and Children's Centers with fondness, of his mom and dad as a great love story, and of his childhood meanderings with laughter. His dad passed a year before I was born, and for my whole life, tears filled his eyes whenever he spoke of my grandfather. My dad worked harder than any man I've ever known, but he didn't complain. He lived for weekends - time with his family. I guess this is why I still feel a sense of frustration for my dad. He lived for his family. Why couldn't he catch a break? Why couldn't he see his daughter marry? Why couldn't he see his grandchildren grow up? Why did he have to die a death that had him suffering until the bitter end? Why? I could ask that question all day. You know what happened when Job asked that question? It wasn't pretty. I know that "God is God and I am not." (Steven Curtis Chapman) Caring for my dad throughout the life of this disease, watching him die slowly, has had a profound effect on me. I still wake up in the middle of the night seeing his eyes roll back into his head, drool drip down the side of his mouth,all the while thanking God that he had me there so that my dad would not be alone. I still kick myself for not stopping the elevator when he grabbed my hand that day, for not fighting for him harder, for not dropkicking that physical therapist when I had the chance. I still wish I had stayed that night at hospice like my husband suggested. Then I would have been able to usher him into Heaven. Every day life goes on as normal. Every day people everywhere around me suffer as I do and worse. Every day, I go through the motions of real life.... but life is not the same. Life will never be the same. I hate that I'm writing these words. I hate that I'm whining. I hate that there are so many in the world who's lives are sooooo, sooooo, sad. Having said all that, I am more attuned, now more than ever,to the simple beauties I encounter every day. My cat giving birth, for instance, has been such a beautiful experience. To watch God's design in action has brought unspeakable joy to our home. To see people on a Sunday morning who have been a part of my life in so many ways, in so many stages.... fills my heart so that I feel like it will burst. To serve our teen girls last week.. to know that they were safe and sound.. to teach young people... to want so much for them... sometimes there is so much to say that all I can say.. is nothing. As I watch my children tackle every moment of life with enthusiasm and curiosity, I'm reminded that my dad LIVED. He didn't just die. He lived. And I have to live, really live - the way my children live - the way my husband lives. The way God desires for me to live. Anyway, I don't know if any of this makes any sense to anyone else. It's been rather cathartic for me though. Time to rebandage.