I'm not good at being alone.
I'm not good at being alone.
I was recently blessed with a whole day all by myself. No work, no kids, no husband, no obligations.
I wandered aimlessly through the house for the first hour clutching my coffee close to my chest. Feelings of panic and excitement simultaneously rushing through every cell of my body.
What am I going to do all day, all alone?
Glancing at the pile of never ending laundry, I decided cleaning was NOT how I would be spending my day alone.
Possibilities soared through my mind with every sip of coffee, each sounding better than the last.
Until the thought came, flying in like a witch on her broom, cackling at me, taunting me with reality.
I'm not good at being alone.
For the 646 days since Deral died, I have been terrified of being alone.
Alone is where all the memories come flooding in like a tidal wave.
Alone is when strangling panic grips my chest and refuses to let go.
Alone feels big and scary like a monster hiding under the bed just waiting for the light switch to flip off.
Alone is when realization awakens and distraction drifts away.
Alone means I have to face my grief head on. Stare it in it’s beautiful, ugly face and feel it deeply, with no escape, no one to comfort me, no one to distract me, no one to focus on to pull me out of the truth of what my life has become.
Alone hurts.
Quickly forgetting my coffee I crumpled onto the floor. Why can't I just have one day? I silently screamed at God.
No answer, just a renewed resolve that this is my life now, I just better get on with it.
Sobbing, I gathered myself up, snatched my coffee cup with the determination of a fighter, a warrior headed into battle and stomped off into my room.
I will not let pain and fear steal my day.
I put on my favorite tankini and floated in the pool FOR HOURS. Uninterrupted, I read, unashamed of my idleness. I made myself lunch and ate it in peace. I showered and napped. I read my bible and diligently studied chapter after chapter.
I wrote. I wrote words that danced across my fingers like life-giving friends.
Then all of a sudden alone didn't feel so bad. Alone had gotten smaller, less scary. The memories still flooded in, but not as forcefully. My thoughts still tumbled through my mind but not as quickly. My heart was still heavy but it didn't feel so burdened. Fear was still lurking but it didn't feel so real.
I'm not very good at being alone. It's a really good thing I never am.
Jesus was with me all day. He was comforting me and loving me exactly how I needed it. He calmed the storm waging in my mind and silenced the fear threatening to take me down. He helped me release guilt I thought I had already released and sat with me while I cried myself to sleep.
Jesus used alone to remind me He is always there. He used the silence to remind me of how he turns hard things good. He used the turmoil in my heart to remind me of his stillness.
I'm not good at being alone. I'm thankful that I never have to be.