It's after dinner now, and I decided I needed to write some more. It has been a rough day. I decided that I needed to find some Christian books on the subject of survival- I already know that I need to draw near to God, but I also need to know how other's who have gone before me, made it through!
After a long morning (all days seem long now) I packed up all the kids, plugged in an address of a Christian book store to the GPS and went on my way. I had looked up a couple of titles that I was interested in.
On my way, driving down the road, for no reason at all, I was overcome with sadness and started crying. Then, I saw it: a blue Ford Falcon- 1968. My dad had one IDENTICAL to the one sitting at the side of the road. My weeping turned into anger- how could he have left me with all this pain? Why wasn't I enough to live for?
The bookstore turned out to be a trip indeed. I couldn't find anything on the specific subject of suicide, and I knew I wasn't strong enough (not on this day) to go up and ask for help. My anger still burned and now I wondered why the Christian community didn't have help for me when I felt like I was drowning?
The grocery store came next, and the kids seemed unruly. My husband came home very late from work, leaving me alone for longer in my silent grief then I wanted on this day.
After dinner, I put the kids in the bath and opened up the Word hoping to find a snippet of something to help me feel better- there it was: Ecclesiastes 3:1-3 "There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build."
For nearly 3 weeks I have thought this must be a bad joke, a mistake, a dream. But God has assured me tonight, it isn't. It didn't sneak up on Him like it did me, and He is giving me permission to grieve my loss, to be angry, and to heal. I didn't ask for this, but I can be assured that Jesus is with me every step of the way wiping my tears, calming my anger and soothing my soul.
Showing posts with label Dale E Christensen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dale E Christensen. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
I'm a Survivor
Survivor.... it's a term that elicits a TV show about people who "survive" in the jungle, tough situations. It also brings to mind people who have been through something awful- like war, and survived. For me now however, it has a whole different meaning. The day my dad decided he would no longer live, he propelled me into a world I would have never chosen- that of a survivor. We are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, grandparents.... people who are experiencing, against our will, the aftermath of someone else's terrible decision.
I'm told that survivors most of the time have post traumatic stress disorder- the same thing our military suffer from once they return from war. I'm also told that because someone close to me has died this way, my family is 5X's as likely to have another person do this.
My goal as survivor, is to pick up the shattered pieces of my life, allow the Lord to heal and put them back together. To have as little trauma as possible passed on to my kids, and to not get swallowed into the deep dark pit of depression that seems now like it lurkes just beneath the surface of my skin ready to envelop me in the blink of an eye.
As a survivor, I have been unable to sleep. Instead I lay awake at night, trying to shut my mind off- the questions swirling around nearly drive me mad. "Why did he do it out on the porch? Why didn't he call to say good-bye, at least to his grandchildren who he loved so much? Why did he not leave a note of love, but instead of shear anger? Why wasn't I enough to live for?"
Once I fall asleep the dreams are no better. So far, I have dreamt that I am trying to push through a door- my dad on the other side of it pushing it closed. He yells at me and won't let me through. I wake up, and remember that this isn't a bad dream- it's my life now.
As a survivor, I am trying to live my own life, I'm not dead! It has however, been crossed with the ugly reality of being changed. I've been walking through the motions of living, but in my head- all the time- is the thought that my dad is no longer here, and he chose it! At the grocery store the cashier asks the common question, "How are you today?" and although I respond normally, although I want to yell out "I've never had a worst time in my life- my dad died by suicide- I don't know why he wanted to leave me!"
I'm also learning that suicide is something that makes people really uncomfortable. People don't know what to say or do and therefor they avoid talking to those left behind. I was pulled over while in UT dealing with my dad's death. My rental car was from one state, my license from another, and my address in still another. When the police questioned why I was in UT and I responded the reason- an awkward silence followed.
As a survivor, I need to talk about not only my dad's life but also his death. It helps my brain understand as I already know it has cushioned this blow by denial- it all seems not real. Talking about it helps my brain understand that this is real. My dad is really gone.
As a survivor, I will make it through this just as I have the other hard times in my life... relying on Jesus to give me peace. His word to me is a comfort, his hand always on me, his arms holding me tight.
I'm told that survivors most of the time have post traumatic stress disorder- the same thing our military suffer from once they return from war. I'm also told that because someone close to me has died this way, my family is 5X's as likely to have another person do this.
My goal as survivor, is to pick up the shattered pieces of my life, allow the Lord to heal and put them back together. To have as little trauma as possible passed on to my kids, and to not get swallowed into the deep dark pit of depression that seems now like it lurkes just beneath the surface of my skin ready to envelop me in the blink of an eye.
As a survivor, I have been unable to sleep. Instead I lay awake at night, trying to shut my mind off- the questions swirling around nearly drive me mad. "Why did he do it out on the porch? Why didn't he call to say good-bye, at least to his grandchildren who he loved so much? Why did he not leave a note of love, but instead of shear anger? Why wasn't I enough to live for?"
Once I fall asleep the dreams are no better. So far, I have dreamt that I am trying to push through a door- my dad on the other side of it pushing it closed. He yells at me and won't let me through. I wake up, and remember that this isn't a bad dream- it's my life now.
As a survivor, I am trying to live my own life, I'm not dead! It has however, been crossed with the ugly reality of being changed. I've been walking through the motions of living, but in my head- all the time- is the thought that my dad is no longer here, and he chose it! At the grocery store the cashier asks the common question, "How are you today?" and although I respond normally, although I want to yell out "I've never had a worst time in my life- my dad died by suicide- I don't know why he wanted to leave me!"
I'm also learning that suicide is something that makes people really uncomfortable. People don't know what to say or do and therefor they avoid talking to those left behind. I was pulled over while in UT dealing with my dad's death. My rental car was from one state, my license from another, and my address in still another. When the police questioned why I was in UT and I responded the reason- an awkward silence followed.
As a survivor, I need to talk about not only my dad's life but also his death. It helps my brain understand as I already know it has cushioned this blow by denial- it all seems not real. Talking about it helps my brain understand that this is real. My dad is really gone.
As a survivor, I will make it through this just as I have the other hard times in my life... relying on Jesus to give me peace. His word to me is a comfort, his hand always on me, his arms holding me tight.
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