This is the post excerpt.
Here I am again…choking on the cup of suffering. I find myself searching within to find out why and have come to some rather unpleasant, but life-changing realizations.
One of those realizations is that I have forgotten how to live. Having been hampered by my former illness for so long, along with the dignity-destroying experience of homelessness, topped off with the recent death of my mother (she died on Christmas day) have made life difficult for me, if not impossible, to manage. I am not sure how to go about this thing called life anymore.
I have suffered through so many things in my short life that I scarcely know where or how to begin. I don’t know whether to start with my present circumstances, go back into the past, or combine the two for a more complete glimpse into my life. One thing I do know is this: I am a writer. A very good one. I can promise a blog filled with emotion and vision. I only require an audience. Whether that audience be one or one hundred, I very much want my life to be one that will teach people how to live, how to love, and how to suffer pain without that suffering altering one’s personality to the point of non-recognition. This is almost a laugh to me, as this post is one in which I find myself changed by the sufferings and pains that I have endured in my 48 years of life.
48 years. Wow. That is a number that I never thought that I would see quite so soon. It came upon me so fast that it took my breath away. I had believed that I would remain forever young, or at least not gallop upon the age of 50 so darned quickly. I still remember the days of my youth. My days of being twenty and then my thirties, which were the happiest years of my life. (I know that the word “happiness” would not seem to be one that would apply to my life considering all that I have been through, but that third decade was one filled with some of the most serene and downright happy moments of my life. As I write in this blog, the reasons for my bliss will become clear. Until then, I will stick with what has brought me to this particular posting. And that is a profound sadness and regrets.
I had always thought that I would not be one who would live a life wherein resided regret, but as my existence has unfolded, especially in these past few months, regret has accounted for a rather large portion of my mind’s interior. Especially with the passing of my mother. My last months with her were riddled with regrets, with resentment, with fear, with longing for the closeness that a mother-daughter should bring, with exhaustion at having to care for her in her declining years and ill health. Just so many things to regret and to fear, and through it all, God has been there.
That is the caveat, folks. The existence and the presence of God in a life encompassed by sorrow and suffering, the likes of which brings one to tears and threatens to toss a body straight into the very pit of despair itself, but the saving grace of it all is a heavenly Father Who loves me and has used the very suffering that has brought such misery to set me free. So, I say to sorrow, “Come.” I say to suffering, “Welcome.” For it is those things, along with a host of feelings and emotions that have run the gamut from fears to tears that have caused my life to have meaning, even within a meaningless life. Because the essence of me has lacked purpose and passion throughout these past nine months since I had come to live with and care for my mother. My life was swallowed up in hers and I did not make a move or have a thought that did not include her welfare in it. And now she’s gone. She’s gone and I will never see her again, nor be subjected to her temper or her pushing me away. I will never again have to live the thankless life as a caregiver. Never suffer the exhaustion of arising at the crack of dawn to prepare my mother for her dialysis appointments. So many never agains. Oh, what will I do without the life that I have led for the past nine months! Those months overshadowed my previous life and became the only life that I had, miserable as my existence became. Now I find myself wondering what I will do without the pain. Though my heart is filled with the pain my mother’s death brings to my soul.
I am torn. Torn between two worlds. Both worlds of pain and loss. If I had to choose one life over another, I would hesitate to make a choice, for those two worlds hold unbearable selections. Let me lay my two lives out for your inspection. In Life One: the endless burden of caring for a soul who made life miserable because she was no longer able to care for herself or Life Two: life without the one who has made the misery a daily existence. I cannot choose, for I do not want either life, yet I walk the tightrope of both with wobbly feet on a high-wire hundreds of feet in the air. Both lives are mine. And this is my endless dilemma. Do I continue to walk the wire, or do I allow myself to tumble to the ground with no safety net to embrace me? I can only come to one inescapable conclusion and that is the inconsolable fact that my mother is dead. Will I ever be able to accept her death or will this unshakeable disbelief forever crowd out the new life that cries within me to be released. May the God of heaven help me.
Blessed be the Name of the Lord.