#18, May 16, 2015, What’s Left

This is the next of a series of excerpts from my journal, written during the last year of Dave's life.

 

I’ve been so tired. It’s not like I’m so busy, though. I am, but it doesn’t seem like that’s the reason. I’m just tired—a bone weariness that’s deeper, almost oppressive. It has nothing to do with work or sleep.

I’m not depressed, but it’s hard to be happy. It is possible, however, to be satisfied, to be comforted. What’s missing is the ability to be carefree.

So God is denying me the assurance of warning. In its place, He is saying that He and only He will control this and I have to trust Him.

image: flickr.com

#17, May 14, 2015, No Alarm

This is the next in a series of excerpts from my journal, written during the last year of Dave's life.

 I learned something yesterday—something in a new way, anyhow.

That dream—the one about God warning me when something is wrong with Dave—it meant nothing. 

Yesterday, while I was in Madison at the spa and shopping, Dave went PT and ended up in the ER, and I had no inkling that anything was wrong. Granted, he only needed fluids again, but he had to manage on his own while I was off having fun.

So I get powerful feelings when nothing is wrong and none at all when something is. So God gives me a thousand gifts, but not intuition. I can’t depend on feelings or inklings.

What do I do with that? I’m not sure. It feels, in my circumstances, like a handicap. What can I do? Accommodate. Guess. Assume I won’t know and try to arrange things to keep us all out of danger, keep us both safe. 

It turned out to be nothing and Dave was fine, or as fine as he gets these days, but still... What does love demand of me?

image: isotope221.com

#16, May 11, 2015, What I Fear

This is the next in a series of excerpts from my journal, written during the last year of Dave's life.

Reading today about peace and the impossibility of finding it here on earth—hunger, illness, sin—and the list of what plagues us is a lot longer. Dreamed last night about Harriet, Beth’s grandmother, and woke feeling like she had died. It feels like a test of whether God will give me a sense of fear when Dave is in danger.

What I’m looking for is someone I know will look out for me—rescue me when I can’t help myself. I can only do so much. I need to know God is there—know in a quantifiable way—need to see Him acting. Otherwise, I am truly alone. I am more afraid of this than anything else.

image:jeremysaid.com

#15, May 10, 2015, Underwater

This is the next in the series of excerpts from my journal, written during the last year of Dave's life:

 Mothers’ Day. 

I was reminded this week for the first time in a long time of all the pain this day used to cause. It’s still there if I reach for it. An echo of it hangs on, but time and grace have brought healing. 

Grace. What the woman at the wine walk called Beth and I. Beauty and Grace. I’ve never been paid a finer compliment by a stranger. 

These days are so beautiful—nights still cool, but I can leave the windows open. 

Dave struggles, though. When days either bring the rain or the promise of it, he breathes as though he’s underwater—heavy and labored. As a result, he’s always tired. I should have expected this, but didn’t. Summer will be hard for him. He’ll have to stay in air conditioning all the time. So grateful we have it.

image; kingofwallpapers.com