Oh, that my grief were fully weighed,
And my calamity laid with it on the scales!
For then it would be heavier than the sand of the sea-
Job 6:2-3
I tried to sing with the worship team on Sunday morning. I cried instead. I tried to listen to the sermon. I cried instead. I tried to laugh at the Superbowl commercials. I cried instead.
And I wished Ben, Jill, and Kelly would just leave the party. Why were they there anyway? Their pitying glances and silence were like salt in a raw wound, screaming "he doesn't want you anymore".
The whole thing was surreal, like I was watching the scene play out from another room. The darkness and grief enveloped my heart very much like a fog rolling in the San Francisco bay, hiding the beauty and leaving only nothingness. Nothingness. That's how it is. Grief so overwhelming, loss so deep, and darkness, only darkness. And all I could do was cry.
So I did. I cried on the way home. I cried in the shower. I cried when I crawled into bed. I cried in my dreams, and when I woke up I was still crying. I cried at my desk, open, vulnerable, exposed. I cried in my studio as I taught piano lessons. I cried at the grocery store. I cried at the bank. I cried at the gas station. Three days later, I found myself dehydrating, but still I cried. I couldn't stop.
Much of that first week is a blur. I remember bits and pieces, but only bits and pieces. Then came the next weekend. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, a conference at our sister church. Our worship team was leading worship for a couple of the services, so I was there. So was Zeke. And Ben, and Jill, and Kelly. After all, they were the best musicians we had, and the core of our team. It was everything I could do to stand on stage with them. My mouth moved as if I were singing, but my voice was gone, and I was left with just tears. More tears. Then on Saturday night, Zeke asked to talk to me. My heart felt a glimmer of hope as we sat in his car. Maybe he was done "processing". Maybe he realized that he had made a mistake. Maybe.....
I don't even remember what he said. He held my hand, and he cried, but then he left. Again.
I stumbled back into the sanctuary like a wounded soldier trying to make it back to base, and I collapsed in a chair next to Donna. And I cried some more.
The second week was not much better than the first. I cried less at work, "less" being the key word. But it was Valentine's Week. And this was supposed to be my first Valentine's day with my very own Valentine. I had waited my whole life for this. Zeke even promised that he would change my disgust for the holiday into a perfect celebration of love. Another broken promise. How many of those had he made? Why didn't I know that he was lying to me? Did he know he was lying to me? Surely he meant every word he said, didn't he? What was going on? Why was this happening? Who got to him? What got to him? Was he afraid? Did I do something? Did I say something? What changed? WHY?!?!?!?!? Oh, why?
More questions, less answers and more tears. God, I hate crying. God, I hate. God. Did He even care? Was He even there? Why didn't He warn me? Why didn't He say something, anything? Why didn't He just kill me instead? WHY?!?!?!?!
And the darkness deepened as I felt myself go lower, and lower, and lower. Was there an end? When would I hit the bottom? Would I ever hit the bottom? My faith was weakened, shattered even. The only place I could find comfort was in bed, hiding from the world of broken dreams that had surrounded me. I clung to my teddy bear as though he would leave me too if I didn't hang on. I was alone. Alone.
Next...Chapter Four: Not Bent, Broken
And my calamity laid with it on the scales!
For then it would be heavier than the sand of the sea-
Job 6:2-3
I tried to sing with the worship team on Sunday morning. I cried instead. I tried to listen to the sermon. I cried instead. I tried to laugh at the Superbowl commercials. I cried instead.
And I wished Ben, Jill, and Kelly would just leave the party. Why were they there anyway? Their pitying glances and silence were like salt in a raw wound, screaming "he doesn't want you anymore".
The whole thing was surreal, like I was watching the scene play out from another room. The darkness and grief enveloped my heart very much like a fog rolling in the San Francisco bay, hiding the beauty and leaving only nothingness. Nothingness. That's how it is. Grief so overwhelming, loss so deep, and darkness, only darkness. And all I could do was cry.
So I did. I cried on the way home. I cried in the shower. I cried when I crawled into bed. I cried in my dreams, and when I woke up I was still crying. I cried at my desk, open, vulnerable, exposed. I cried in my studio as I taught piano lessons. I cried at the grocery store. I cried at the bank. I cried at the gas station. Three days later, I found myself dehydrating, but still I cried. I couldn't stop.
Much of that first week is a blur. I remember bits and pieces, but only bits and pieces. Then came the next weekend. Thursday, Friday, Saturday, a conference at our sister church. Our worship team was leading worship for a couple of the services, so I was there. So was Zeke. And Ben, and Jill, and Kelly. After all, they were the best musicians we had, and the core of our team. It was everything I could do to stand on stage with them. My mouth moved as if I were singing, but my voice was gone, and I was left with just tears. More tears. Then on Saturday night, Zeke asked to talk to me. My heart felt a glimmer of hope as we sat in his car. Maybe he was done "processing". Maybe he realized that he had made a mistake. Maybe.....
I don't even remember what he said. He held my hand, and he cried, but then he left. Again.
I stumbled back into the sanctuary like a wounded soldier trying to make it back to base, and I collapsed in a chair next to Donna. And I cried some more.
The second week was not much better than the first. I cried less at work, "less" being the key word. But it was Valentine's Week. And this was supposed to be my first Valentine's day with my very own Valentine. I had waited my whole life for this. Zeke even promised that he would change my disgust for the holiday into a perfect celebration of love. Another broken promise. How many of those had he made? Why didn't I know that he was lying to me? Did he know he was lying to me? Surely he meant every word he said, didn't he? What was going on? Why was this happening? Who got to him? What got to him? Was he afraid? Did I do something? Did I say something? What changed? WHY?!?!?!?!? Oh, why?
More questions, less answers and more tears. God, I hate crying. God, I hate. God. Did He even care? Was He even there? Why didn't He warn me? Why didn't He say something, anything? Why didn't He just kill me instead? WHY?!?!?!?!
And the darkness deepened as I felt myself go lower, and lower, and lower. Was there an end? When would I hit the bottom? Would I ever hit the bottom? My faith was weakened, shattered even. The only place I could find comfort was in bed, hiding from the world of broken dreams that had surrounded me. I clung to my teddy bear as though he would leave me too if I didn't hang on. I was alone. Alone.
Next...Chapter Four: Not Bent, Broken
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