Will there be a day when I can look at my son's sweet face and have true peace in my soul? A day when I won't long for what was? His smile rips open the wounds...the curls, the eyes...my Mark. How am I supposed to let go of my child? Is there any way???
I see his picture and I am back with him...hugging him, rocking him and laughing at every little antic.
Looking at him...I am remembering it all and wanting him back with me as much as I did the day he left.
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I have managed to remain on the "not-so-depressed" side these past couple of weeks. A new part-time job has helped me tremendously. I may be physically exhausted, but it has kept me from being so consumed with emotion. Being away from the house keeps my mind from dwelling in the land of "why me" and "if only's." And, aside from that, the book that I quoted from in the last post, "A Grace Disguised", has been a source of comfort each time I sit down to read it. Taking it from a guy who has been there...this long, lonely and dark road of grief...I find hope in so much of what he writes.
It seems that the rarity of being hopeful is, in itself, a little gift. Sometimes I don't realize how much of a gift it is until I feel like I do today. Angry. Hopeless. Just plain ticked-off that Mark isn't here with me. Pity party...table for one, please.
(Sigh.) Grief requires work. Hard work. And frankly, today, I just didn't feel like putting forth the effort. From all of the "wrong" songs that they played on the radio to remembering something that Mark used to do that I had forgotten until today...it just stinks. It is much easier to give in to the grief. Must I keep fighting this good fight...getting up in the morning to face another day that will end the same way that it began? How long? How long?
For now...I am still walking in the midnight, but facing the east...Lord, please send the dawn.
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