I cried five separate times on Sunday. Not that it's a record for me, by any means. But it's out of the norm lately. Apparently life hasn't gotten the memo that after a traumatic experience and losing one's children, there's supposed to be a healing calm. Oh no. That memo missed his inbox entirely.
I went back to the psychologist a week ago. Over the past few months, I've realized that I'm able to integrate the story of the children into our life much more healthily, but other things have creeped in as a result of the constant stress of the past two years. While the Dr. is booked for a while, he did give me homework.
Gosh darn it. When will this strenuous mental processing end??? Huh?? Ever?? It's wearing me down.
We desperately long for something good. It's hard watching it come to others sometimes. That's the honest truth. To read someone's words of how a second child has filled their heart, been so healing, after the loss of their toddler. And I cry out inside, "Why can't that be for us?"
The intense sadness that used to be is now replaced by intense frustration and anger. The battle of feeling like we're "owed" something is never ending. Like we've put in our suffering chips and now should get something back for them. That isn't how God's kingdom works.
But how I long for something good. I long for it in my job. S longs for it in his job. In the expanding of our family. I want to feel a breath of fresh air. Like a new start. Something in life that matches this "new me" that is now me. But then I get scared and think hurt will bombard us like it did before.
Trusting God is hard. Really, really hard. I'm glad we have the story of the disciples. They got it wrong so much. But Jesus drew them in, even then.