Death.
I can't really sit and think about it for any length of time. All thoughts inevitably lead to:
My grandma's death.
The two concepts are intertwined in my mind; I'm never quite able to separate one from the other. Death, in itself, does not frighten me. I have my faith and, perhaps more importantly, I know why I have my faith -- I believe with all my heart and mind that I know where I'll go when my eyes close in death on this earth. That is not my struggle.
So much of my daily routine has become a warped, empty shell of what it was before she died. I go through the motions with some success; I work, I study, I spend my leisure time doing so-called intellectual things, I try to pretend I'm too strong to be bothered by it.
But I am. "The first year is always the hardest," people tell me. I'd like to let them know how wrong they are. I've had my surges of uncontrollable emotion and moments in which I questioned whether or not I'd feel normal again, but I've kept myself together in spite of the circumstances. Maybe I haven't allowed myself to grieve, maybe I'm too afraid of it. Nothing in my emotional makeup works on a gradient, I'm too extreme for that. I operate on a very simple on-off switch when it comes to intensity, and I'm terrified that once I allow grief to have a hold on me, I won't be able to turn it off.
Maybe that's why this year hasn't been as hard as I anticipated. I haven't felt anything.
All I can do is trust that God will be with me as He always has been.
That's my struggle.
I can't really sit and think about it for any length of time. All thoughts inevitably lead to:
My grandma's death.
The two concepts are intertwined in my mind; I'm never quite able to separate one from the other. Death, in itself, does not frighten me. I have my faith and, perhaps more importantly, I know why I have my faith -- I believe with all my heart and mind that I know where I'll go when my eyes close in death on this earth. That is not my struggle.
So much of my daily routine has become a warped, empty shell of what it was before she died. I go through the motions with some success; I work, I study, I spend my leisure time doing so-called intellectual things, I try to pretend I'm too strong to be bothered by it.
But I am. "The first year is always the hardest," people tell me. I'd like to let them know how wrong they are. I've had my surges of uncontrollable emotion and moments in which I questioned whether or not I'd feel normal again, but I've kept myself together in spite of the circumstances. Maybe I haven't allowed myself to grieve, maybe I'm too afraid of it. Nothing in my emotional makeup works on a gradient, I'm too extreme for that. I operate on a very simple on-off switch when it comes to intensity, and I'm terrified that once I allow grief to have a hold on me, I won't be able to turn it off.
Maybe that's why this year hasn't been as hard as I anticipated. I haven't felt anything.
All I can do is trust that God will be with me as He always has been.
That's my struggle.
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