Déja vu. Didn’t I write that journal entry long ago that “I think it is done. I think I have finally given up”? Except this time I’m not giving into depression, I’m letting go.
I can honestly say I wish I had never met him. Never knew he existed on this earth. I wish our worlds had never abraded each other’s. I wish I hadn’t come alive for a few weeks to feel the sting of death all the more bitterly. Except for the hope for a happy life someday with God, I feel the exact same as I did then. Why did he need to change me so much, to make me so much bigger than my life, when I would only have to shrink again, my skin tightening horribly, to fit it once again?
I’m letting go of all the wonderings about the purpose of all those months, of what God intended from all that. I’m letting go of my love for that man and of my delight in the strength God was smelting in me. I’m accepting my own limitations and weaknesses, my humanity, acknowledging that I guess I’m not as stubborn as I thought, not as steadfast a warrior. I’m letting go of the horrible slithering question of letting down the people God gave to me, letting down my name. At least I’m in good company. How many times in the Bible do humans fall short and God does what he’s going to do for his name’s sake, for his own purposes?
I’m just not getting any direction so I can only surmise God isn’t taking me anywhere right now. Still in the wilderness, but at least he brought me out of teaching. At least that hell is over. I really don’t know how I would have dealt with the last couple of months if I had to face that every day.
It’s tough to leave all the questions and walk away. It’s tough to imagine God could possibly make this right. But he said he would replace the years the locusts had eaten, and they’ve eaten decades. I don’t know how anything or anyone could make all this wrong right. But if anyone is equal to the task, it’s God.
But he’ll have to do it without me. I’m not turning my back on him or what he started, whatever that is. I’m just doing the only thing I can. I’m not certain of one way or another and therefore, I can’t breathe in or out. I’m just paralyzed. I need peace. And I know however God will work this out, it truly will be for the best, though my imagination fails me on that score.
It doesn’t hurt, to let go. The prospect made my chest literally feel as if it was being broken from the inside, like a little beast was cracking my ribs. But it doesn’t now. It’s as if I’d been on the operating table all these months and my heart finally gave out that horrific night of August 26, and since then I’ve tried to keep my heart going, tried to resuscitate, massaged my heart, done chest compressions, defibrillated myself, and the jerking, jarring, unnatural rhythm has kept me from my rest, and now, after two months of this, I’m letting her go, this intense, tired woman whose heart is silent no matter what I do.
.
He was just a blip on a flat-lining heart monitor, and now I’m still again. I won’t make any more efforts to find someone. I suppose it is tragic, but it’s certainly easier, that I don’t have a maternal bone left in my body, although I need now to start harvesting my eggs. I’m only a few months from 32, and I feel 72. I feel like I should give a press release to friends and family to tell them the patient is dead and we’re pulling the plug. There will be no more dating services, no flirting, no sidelong glances to size up prospects at church or the grocery store, no wondering how it will happen, no waiting for ghosts to come back to life. Because that’s what he’s been – a ghost – a virulent spirit clanking his chains and giving me no rest. Now all I have to do is wait for the echoes to die as well. But I won’t be in pain while I wait for that. And then the waiting will be over.
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