One of the joys of most mental illness’ are their predictability. They either hang out constantly or you know when it’s coming. 12 years with depression and I typically know when it is about to show up. Sadness from grief on the other hand is something still very new to me.
It has has been 1 month and 4 days since I joined what others call “the club no one wants to be apart of.” Grief hits me at random times like at a restaurant we used to eat at, or certain songs coming on the radio, but the sorrow still has a sort of predictability.
My grandmother went home on Tuesday, December 4, 2019. There is a weighty-ness to a Tuesday that I forget about every single week until it comes around again and again. Every Tuesday I wake up too early, or after a too weird dream, and swallow the same lump over and over in hopes of making it through my first cup of coffee. Sometimes I can make it to the baby’s nap time when I just breakdown as soon as I shut her door, then somedays I do not make it sitting up right in bed before the tears start, and for the life of me will not stop.
These sobs have turned into my rawest moments with God.
Losing the person who was my mother, grandmother, and best friend, is something I could have never been adequately prepared for. Dealing with grief is like having a new baby, you can talk to others with experience, read books, join support groups, but you still have to go through it yourself.
And going through it I am.
I wrestled most with God as a teenager. I could never fully grasp why a powerful, loving, supernatural, being capable of creating all things could not create a way to stop my suffering.
Why would he let me hurt so bad emotionally that I hurt myself physically?
Why would an all knowing God let my thoughts be this scary and morbid?
The dying process is awful, even in the midst of the most peaceful death it still makes your heart want to cave on itself. The night before my grandmother passed I found myself revisiting a lot of questions. Once again, I could not comprehend the suffering people go through. That evening I collapsed into my car with a wave after wave of questions forcing their way out of my mouth. Anger boiling inside and overwhelming sorrow sleeping through in ever single utterance I was trying to muster up.
If this is who you are I am good at a distance.
I am not dedicating my entire life to someone who lets this happen.
Sometimes God does not prevent but he prepares, and that night I finally had to let go of the need to know why. I know something that 12 year old Taralyn did not. I know what faith is. In the midst of my anger I could not deny the fact that I do know the truth because of what is written about who God is. Having faith does not mean situations and circumstance will always be okay, but it is the belief that THEY WILL GET BETTER. It is the trust that every hard thing, every beyond painful experience I have ever been in or walked into willingly will be transformed for good.
The final eight weeks we were able to spend together after her final prognosis were filled with emotions and filled with joy. That is where I found God. I found him in the questions, in the joy, and in the pain. In my deepest, darkest, pits of sadness, he met me there.
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28 NIV