Worry

I don't remember what I used to worry about before Mark died. What did my mind obsess about at night when thoughts wouldn't go away and was there something in particular that bothered me when I got up in the morning? I really can't recall.

What I do know is that now my mind never rests. Thoughts about Mark are ever present and disturbing...as though sometimes is still doesn't seem real that he is gone. Sometimes it doesn't seem real that he was ever here. But then, there are those pictures...always his sweet face looking back at me and so real that I can almost hear his voice.

Mark's death has launched me into a perpetual state of worry for the safety of my other children. It is overwhelming and exhausting. This morning, I couldn't help but wonder why Maegan had slept so soundly during the night. She usually sleeps all night, but there is always a cough or movement that wakes me once or twice. Not last night. I awoke to terrifying thoughts that she must be dead in her crib. What would I do? I kept picturing myself walking in to her room and finding her there...wondering how I would handle the situation. I so traumatized my oldest daughter after finding Mark in the water by screaming and kicking that I wouldn't want to do that again. Would I send them all outside so that I could scream and cry and hold her lifeless little body in my arms? I could even envision what she looked like dead. Why? Because I have seen my own child dead. Lifeless and losing the color from his skin while I hold him. The biggest blessing of the day was running to Maegan's room, opening her door and seeing her chest moving up and down with every breath. I even had to touch her and feel the warmth.

This is the ugly truth of grief...of the entire process. It makes most of life seem so trivial when your mind is occupied with such painful "what ifs" and the truth of what has already happened. The worst part is that I know what it would feel like if it happened again. I could imagine it and feel it as a real occurrence.

A few days ago, my children and I were listening to a song in the car that had to do with God's miracles being all around us in our daily lives. I could tell that my eight year old was bothered by something and so I turned the song down and asked her what was on her mind. Very matter-of-factly she stated that "There was no miracle when Mark was in the hospital...God didn't give us a miracle then." Then, she just turned her head and stared out the window. I said nothing. She was right.

Where does all this lead? Trust in God? The Bible commands it and I fail every time. I know that trusting God with my children doesn't mean that He won't take another one from me. It didn't keep Him from taking Mark. It means that I am supposed to trust God in all of His decisions and know that they are right. I do because I have no choice. If I didn't trust in a plan and purpose there would be no point in going on at all.

Is it supposed to keep me from having obsessive, disturbing and worrisome thoughts? Maybe. I'm working on it. The process is hard...so much harder and longer than I could have ever imagined.