Grief is a strange thing. You think it's gone, and then whammo. For some reason, my dad's passing has brought things to light that I thought were long gone, but turns out were only hidden in the dark places. Not dark as in evil or bad, dark as in boxed up and put away in a corner, like my dad's ashes on a tall shelf in the laundry room. Lately I forget that they're there, until I go digging around looking for something else. Then, whammo. Ashes do not belong in a laundry room. You don't expect to see them there.
Two and a half years ago, I had a miscarriage. QL was 9 months old when I found out I was pregnant, and I was not too excited to say the least. I just cried and cried, not ready to do this all over again. After all, IW and QL are only 16 months apart. Husband was so excited, or at least he acted that way; I kind of think he was trying to compensate for the fact that I was not very happy. Nevertheless, he was already picking names. Long story short, at 7 weeks, I miscarried. With that came a tremendous amount of guilt; I was not ready to be pregnant again, but I certainly did not want my baby to die. On top of that, my sister in law had miscarried not even a month before, and I just kept thinking "how in the hell does this happen?".
Now, a little more back story. We had been doing a Bible Study at our house with our pastor and Husband's dad. I was also doing a daily devotional each night before bed. The night before the onset of my miscarriage was a Friday. This was my devotional:
"An old story pictures a young, recently converted woman waking up in the morning. As her eyes open and her mind clears, she repeats a little ceremony she does every morning. Without getting out of bed, she prays:
"This bed is the altar, I am the sacrifice. I give my life to you this day, O God, all of today. Use me as you wish. I am your servant....." (The 100 Most Important Bible Verses for Women).
That Saturday morning I woke up and said that prayer, and that afternoon I began spotting. I cry even as I read it now. I still have the book, but have not been able to continue on in the devotionals.
I have a very strong relationship with God at this point in my life, at least I did up until about a month ago. It was that relationship and my faith in it that held me up every day I spent in the hospital at my dad's side. It is the only explanation I have for the ease in which I have forgiven my dad for.... everything that needed forgiveness. But now I am back to where I was 2 1/2 years ago, terrified at the power of the words of a prayer and giving God power over my life. This miscarriage blessed my family in more ways than I can type into a blog, but it still hurt more than anything I had experienced in my life, and anyone who truly knows me knows that the list is long.
My dad has died, and I'm angry. I'm angry for the crappy childhood I had, angry at the fact that there is now no way to make it right. My opportunity has passed.
I'm angry that I'm a married woman who is a single mom.
I'm angry that for the first time in my life, I don't fall under the label of poor, but that we've had to sacrifice life as a family unit to achieve that. I'm angry.
I just cry out to God: "What are you doing here? Where are you taking me? Haven't I had enough? I mean seriously, HAVEN'T I HAD ENOUGH?" I feel like a ship lost in the middle of the sea, with no captain.
With every complaint, I hear Scripture's rebuttal, but none of the answers are the ones I'm looking for.
And it all comes back to that prayer. Those words that keep my relationship at arms length. I lie in bed and weep, because I cannot say to God "I am your sacrifice; do with me what you will." I'm terrified. What will come next? What if God wants to take my husband, or one of my children, or all of my children? I know that God is a loving God, and I know that I would survive anything that comes my way, through Him. But I am terrified. And I am angry.
I know that there are stages of grief, and ANGER, well, I think this must be where I have arrived.
