I want my words to spill across this page. Healing words that will make things better. This is how I cope with the things in my life that seem so difficult at times. I sit down in front of this screen,put my feelings into words and then I feel better. The situation looks easier. Something resolves itself in me and I can stand up and walk away knowing everything will be OK.
Damn it. Nothing I write can fix this. Nothing I can say will take the empty hollow space of fear in my chest. Nothing will ease the pain and confusion we are all feeling. Nothing will ease the waiting. The unknowns.
Yet, we have to do the day to day stuff. We have to get up and brush our teeth. We have to get dressed and make breakfast. Get the kids off to school. We have to read books to the little ones and have play dates. We have to step into the laundry room and sort through the piles on the floor. And, what will we have for dinner?
As my body does all of these things the hole of fear only gets bigger. The "what if's" only multiply. The tears come and I brush them away and swallow hard. I square my shoulders and determine to keep going. To keep going through the darkness of all the fear.
Where is all this courage that I am suppose to have? Where is all this faith? Why, when I need strength the most, I am so weak? Why am I going through my days distracted when I should be cherishing each second?
My favorite part of my day is my quiet time with my bible and my journal. Now, I just stare at them across the room and can't bring myself to get up and open the pages. This to just feels like work. Work that I don't want to get up and do.
We are expected to hear news this week....the results of the biopsy. What treatment will be best. We are suppose to live our lives normally until we know the next step. Live like we don't know about the tumor. Live like nothing is wrong.
And, this is hard. So very hard.
Maybe tomorrow I will do it better? Maybe tomorrow it will be easier? This knowing and waiting. This is where I will place my hope. In tomorrow and, remembering that the healing has started. The brain swelling is down. She is in good hands.
Damn it. Nothing I write can fix this. Nothing I can say will take the empty hollow space of fear in my chest. Nothing will ease the pain and confusion we are all feeling. Nothing will ease the waiting. The unknowns.
Yet, we have to do the day to day stuff. We have to get up and brush our teeth. We have to get dressed and make breakfast. Get the kids off to school. We have to read books to the little ones and have play dates. We have to step into the laundry room and sort through the piles on the floor. And, what will we have for dinner?
As my body does all of these things the hole of fear only gets bigger. The "what if's" only multiply. The tears come and I brush them away and swallow hard. I square my shoulders and determine to keep going. To keep going through the darkness of all the fear.
Where is all this courage that I am suppose to have? Where is all this faith? Why, when I need strength the most, I am so weak? Why am I going through my days distracted when I should be cherishing each second?
My favorite part of my day is my quiet time with my bible and my journal. Now, I just stare at them across the room and can't bring myself to get up and open the pages. This to just feels like work. Work that I don't want to get up and do.
We are expected to hear news this week....the results of the biopsy. What treatment will be best. We are suppose to live our lives normally until we know the next step. Live like we don't know about the tumor. Live like nothing is wrong.
And, this is hard. So very hard.
Maybe tomorrow I will do it better? Maybe tomorrow it will be easier? This knowing and waiting. This is where I will place my hope. In tomorrow and, remembering that the healing has started. The brain swelling is down. She is in good hands.
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