Why can’t I push pause on life?
The initial shock has passed, so I’m a bit more functional. But hardly.
I want to stay in bed all day. I’m exhausted, even when I take naps. I got up earlier than usual today because I went to an earlier service at my mom’s friend’s church.
I didn’t go to my church service because I didn’t want to be around a lot of people. I took a nap before softball and went out to play because I figured I would enjoy the weather and exercise, and because we had exactly enough players and I didn’t want our team to be forced to forfeit. I originally didn’t intend to go to my church’s BBQ fellowship event, but I ended up going. It was nice, but tiring. And now I’m absolutely exhausted.
Where is my energy going? I’m pretty sure I had more energy at the start of this, even with all the crying and trouble sleeping.
I felt like I had no right to be running freely in lovely weather, to be laughing, to be out and about, to be with people. Why do I get to be out here while my grandfather is only breathing thanks to a machine?
Again, I know I’m being irrational. And, I know that this is probably a display of a lack of faith. But oh God, I’m angry. I’m still angry. I still don’t want to talk to you. I am too tired to seek your Word or your presence. Yet, I rejoice when others share good news. And, I still pray on behalf of others. Isn’t that odd? Isn’t it totally ridiculous the way I refuse to go to God with my anger and hurt, but can still write lines and lines of the blessings that I’m thankful for (and know that they can only be attributed to Him), and still come with genuine praise and earnest for others?
Each day is laced with the fear of a phone call from the hospital. Every day keeps me on edge with the fear that it might be the last.
I just want things to make sense again. I want time and life and oxygen and heartbeats and health to make sense. Nothing makes sense to me right now.
But still, I cannot let myself waste away, no matter how badly I want to in the moment.
My mom still gets up and works. She still runs her business. My brother still gets up and works long hours. My grandma still gets up and eats and makes 반찬 for us. I can’t stay down on the ground forever, no matter how much I’ve always loved the floor.
I need to get up. I need to work. I need to feed myself something more than just Hawaiian rolls. I should offer to make my brother lunches again. I need to do laundry. I need to take out the trash. I need to do dishes. I need to run errands. I need to schedule bill payments. I need to not let myself whither.
How unforgiving life can be.
Sometimes, in those moments of temptation, the only thing that seems to deter me from self-harm is thinking of my parents and my grandparents, of how much they would hate it if they knew I wanted to physically hurt myself sometimes because of this.
We’re all tired. We’re all hurting. We’re all reeling from the suddenness and unexpectedness. I don’t get to hurt myself and I don’t get to be the only one who digs her heels into the ground, reluctant to keep moving with life.
We have a family meeting tomorrow with doctors and palliative care. I’m already tired by the thought.
I am tired because I have to be the clumsy, incompetent translator. That’s one of the worst parts, to have to bridge the language gap.
I had to be the one to tell the doctor that if/when his heart stops again, that we want to let him go.
How acidic those words tasted as they left my tongue. How my guts screamed in protest inside me. How painful it was to feel like the executioner.
God, I am angry. I’m angry at life, at my helplessness, at my inability to change anything. I’m angry that I have to accept whatever happens, acknowledging that you are sovereign. I am angry that this is the way, for some reason that I can’t begin to wrap my head around, you decide to take him. I’m angry that you’re taking my grandmother’s partner from her. I’m angry that you’re taking him without the chance for us to do better for him first. I’m angry that no matter how sad or worn out I feel, I’m expected to still get out of bed and be a real person.
But, the one I’m most angry at is myself.
And God, I wish right now was a time when my faith shines through. I wish I could say I’m at peace. I wish that knowing and believing what I know and believe could extinguish this anguish and this terror and this rage. God, I wish I wasn’t angry at you, yet, I have no desire to stop myself, to cry to you for help with my own darkness.
But God, most of all, I am tired of being angry.
It’s been almost a week now, but these days have felt like weeks, and the days to come look like mountains.