Til Human Voices Wake Us

We are home tonight from the beach. Right now I feel exhausted and just a little bit lost, yet relieved at the same time to be home in my chair with my giant foot propped up and the normal sounds of the television and someone playing a guitar and the fan blowing and my fingers clacking on the laptop as I write this message. I am thankful for the quiet, familiar, frenetic energy of home.

Our vacation was a wonderful glimpse of paradise in so many ways. We had an incredible view of the ocean from the large windows on the main level, and dolphins played just off shore while the pelicans hovered over the water in hopes of finding a fish. The ocean was as large and as majestic and as healing as ever, reminding me of the bigness of God and the smallness of me. Josiah was with us, calling me "Momma" and making us all laugh in spite of his fierce sunburn. The kids dug holes and buried each other in the sand and splashed in the salty surf, and when we were not on the beach we shopped for souvenirs in air-conditioned stores that sell boogie boards and flip flops, salt-water taffy and coffee cups, t-shirts and wind chimes and long strands of shells that spin in the breeze.

-

I often use the analogy of a roller coaster when talking about my life. Never has it been a more fitting image than this week. There were the highest of highs -- my reunion with Josiah at the airport and the unbridled joy of watching him here and there all week, sharing a cold popsicle with my baby niece, sitting on the beach by the ocean with my whole family frolicking around me, triumphantly tackling the 17 steep steps back up to the boardwalk; there were also the lowest of lows, dark tunnels of which I am loathe to speak. For some reason, I simply could not seem to control my emotions. I cried without warning, lost my temper irrationally, and openly bemoaned the fact that I felt left out of so many activities due to my physical limitations. My family, accustomed to comforting themselves with the fallacy that I am strong and have gracefully accepted my situation, was totally flipped out and took to avoiding me -- which only heightened my feelings of loneliness and abandonment. There were hurtful words exchanged, and I don't know what amount of damage control will be required to pick up the pieces, or if I even WANT to make amends if they can't accept the fact that I am gravely ill and let me FEEL and EXPRESS the pain of it betimes without trying to hide under a plastic smile.

At the same time, I am frightened by my own emotional volatility at this point. It feels like a monster has been unleashed inside of me -- a misshapen, feverish beast borne of pain, fear, loss, helplessness, anguish, and downright fury at my lot in life. I have kept this thing inside of me for so very long, carefully it shoving it down into its box whenever anyone was near, never daring to even admit its presence even to myself. Unfortunately, it has grown to the point that the latch no longer holds it. Like a jack-in-the-box wound one time too many by a child who is supposed to be putting his toys away, it roars to the surface without warning and always at the worst possible moment. I am embarrassed and ashamed about my loss of control. I think I might be a little depressed.

I hope that you will understand that for now the beach pictures are just too painful for me to view or share. They are a snapshot of the purest of happiness, of bliss and relaxation, of sun and sand and sea -- and yet, they are also a painful reminder of the fact that vacation is over and that our beloved son Josiah is on a plane headed for London and that nothing in our lives, good or bad, lasts for very long. When I am feeling a little stronger, I will treasure them and the memories they hold of my whole family gathered together in that beautiful house by the sea -- and I will console myself with the knowledge that nothing, and no one, is ever really gone if they live in our memories and in our hearts.

:-) Sharon