I just completed the draft of my memoir. Writing about my father brought the pain and sorrow to the surface once again. With Father’s Day approaching this weekend, I want to revisit a post I wrote two years ago. Perhaps my words will comfort other survivors who struggle with the celebrating Father’s Day.
The book of Psalms is a favorite of mine because David and others bare their heart and soul to the Lord, but always end with praise and thanksgiving for God’s steadfast love. This week I turned to three passages to uplift, encourage and strengthen my soul. I hope they provide the same to you.
Sometimes when God touches me, the honesty seems too much. Sometimes, I don’t want Him to see the “real me”. The truth is He always sees the real me.
After reading a short article about the importance of remembering Easter long after Resurrection Sunday, I decided to write a poem about my experience this Easter.
We are the Church and this Easter reflected that truth through the service of those who risk their lives to care for others.
“I have cried more and more intensely than I have in years. I have realized that the deep sorrow of grief will not be pushed away forever. Oh I tried by letting it bubble out for brief moments thinking, “I can do this.” Short blasts of tears predict the eruption to come. Body tremors warn of the pain within. Fatigue warns that all is not well in the soul. Then the deep sorrow and anguish of grief erupts. The eruption will not stop until the depth of pain is released.
Originally posted on Charlotte B. Thomason:
As tears rolled down my cheeks as I thought, “How can I ever give her the…
Grief is a strange thing. It is dynamic and strikes when I least expect it. I rarely think of upcoming anniversaries, but grief lurks in the shadows ready to surprise me when I see a memory pop up on Facebook or when I hear one of John’s favorite songs. The moments of grief don’t last long and I accept them as part of life. I miss John but would not wish him to come back because I know he is walking with God and enjoying conversations with the saints.
As I write my memoir I experience grief for the child that never knew love. While the grief I feel for my younger self is different than the grief I felt when John died, the pain is the same. The emptiness I felt after John’s death reminds me of the emptiness I felt as a child. Reviewing this post from several years ago reminds of the solution to the emptiness. I thought it might help others who struggle with the loss of a loved one or who struggle with the loss of innocence through abuse.