Monday, March 17, 2008

From a letter to a friend:

First off, there are people, including me, who after you die will remember that you were valiant and human during many different hard times. However, I'd rather know you now than remember you later.

Who can remain optimistic forever? But not being optimistic now is different than never having hope. In July sometime I remember saying to my husband that I was so miserable that if it wasn't for the kids trusting in me and counting on me to be stable for them I would kill myself. Now, looking back and seeing how things were without the stresses of having him sick and in the house twisting our lives I think that if it wasn't for the kids I wouldn't have killed myself but I would have shut off, closed down, and moved out and on. I would have gone to start a new life somewhere else. It would be hard and miserable but way better than what was going on.

I also thought that by killing myself I would be saying that there was no chance of happiness or even lack of unhappiness in the future and I wasn't able to say that there was not love or joy or peace in the future...somewhere...for me or those I love.

I know that I have been loved very well. For 20 years I was so loved that I bloomed and love flowed out of me and onto other people. The way I feel now is how I think Saul must have felt when in 1st Samuel it says an evil spirit came from God in him but why would God send an evil spirit? I think it was how it looked and felt to have God's favour leave him. An unexplained loss of unconditional love; the withdrawal of unquestioned favour. A great prize I did nothing to win ripped from me.


Yesterday how I felt was Ray LaMontagne - Til the sun turns black but today I feel Carl Hancock Rux - The Temptation of Saint Anthony. Things change.

1 comment:

duende said...

Ah, friend, what a dark night that time was for you, and how well I know the feeling. You come to understand not just why but *how* the coyote could go so far as to chew off its own leg to escape. When you are in that pit, it seems like you will never get out, but thank God, you do, even if you have to claw your way out, freestyle.

Can I take you out to dinner on the 26th of next month? I'll be arriving that afternoon for my conference that starts on Sunday. We could do just the two of us, to have freedom to talk, or we could take the kids - whatever you prefer.

Love you, always!