Tuesday, April 23, 2013

five months


My dream of all dreams and my hope of all hopes
Is only to tell you and make sure you know
How much I love you and how much I always did.
And yes I know you loved me, I can see it in your eyes
And it was in your struggle and it was in your mind
And it was in the smile you gave me when I was a kid
Feels like no one understands
And my only chance
To talk to you is through my prayers.
I only wanted to tell you I cared
Every night after and every day since,
I found myself crying when the memory hit.
Sometimes it knocks me down; sometimes I just put it away.
Down in my mind where I don't care to go
The pain of a lesson is letting me know
If you have love in your heart let it show while you can
Yes, now I understand
But now my only chance
To talk to you is through my prayers.
I only wanted to tell you I cared.”
 - The Avett Brothers (Through My Prayers)



I haven’t updated my blog in a while – mostly because my less-then-adequate internet connection makes uploading pictures frustrating.  So there have been dance performances, scouting ceremonies and events, and a trip to another country that I want to write about and share pictures – but it’s hard when I can easily be so discouraged by a timed-out response when trying to upload a picture
The other reason is because of 5 words.
 I just can’t even imagine 
I hear it a lot.  
a lot
I think it’s something I’ve probably said.  When there’s nothing else to say. 
I never really thought about what it was saying.
And since I hear it often I thought I would tell you that you’re right. 

You can’t. 

I hope that you never can. 
And while you might be impatient for us to figure out our new life, “get over it”, you might be anxious for us to move back to the states where you’ll be closer to us, you might not want to think about how hard every single second of every miserable day is, you might want to suggest more prayer, or a Bible verse (or medication) -I want you to remember this:  You just can not – CAN NOT – even begin to imagine.  No matter who you are.
  I used to be something else.  And I don’t mean to put myself up on a pedestal.  But I was, I was something else because of the extraordinary team I was a part of.   I don’t mean to make Rob out to be something more than he was either, but we really were quite the amazing team.  And the 5 of us, together.  We were unstoppable.  
   To say the least: the kids got where they needed to be on time, we ran cub scout dens, and volunteered in whatever the kids were doing, completed work and training, homeschooled the kids, kept appointments, dinner was yummy, the house was clean, the yard was tended, the car was cared for, and moving (while not without its challenges) was not a big deal. 
   Intention is a dangerous word
There are days when my every intention is to make some sort of progress on something – anything - and I am stuck staring at an open closet door where his uniforms are hanging.  Suddenly it’s 3 hours later and I don’t know where that time went.   I seem to constantly be running late and have missed appointments (that ARE written down – in several places).  I have found myself doing dishes and I will be hit with a memory of those last days and find myself washing the same plate for 30 minutes.  I forget things and am so unfocused, easily frustrated and overwhelmed.  Consumed.   
  I don’t think I thought about what we were going through.  I just cared for him and that was all, I wrote about things and how awful they were awful then, but I was somehow protected from really being overloaded by the enormity of their weight.  Now when I remember something I am forced to almost relive it.  And feel it.   And it is paralyzing.   
   Working on anything for the move – for any of the 4 of us– just forces the realization of leaving here.  The only home the boys can remember and the last place the 5 of us lived together as a family for SEVEN years.  It also means moving away from a military community and leaving that life behind, which is all my kids have known and what we’ve been immersed in for 16 years. We, none of us, want to leave here though we, all of us, realize we have to and are accepting of it – but please stop expecting us to feel excited about it.  or even to make the best out of it.  That just doesn’t fit in this situation.  It just DOESN’T. 
     I pray everyday.  I read the Bible (almost) every day.  I am running or at least walking every day. I am sleeping a normal amount, most of the time. I have people checking in on me and offering to help – I only wish I knew what to ask.   I have talked to people about my head.  I am assured this is all normal and unless I want to go on medication (which I DO NOT) then all I need is time.   I talk to my kids all the time, every day, and they talk to me about all that’s going on with them.  I know what they’re going through and I know their hurt.  The four of us are dealing, together, with everything and keeping God center.  But, you just can’t even begin to imagine.  
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