From: clrclady
Date: Sat Jul 31 20:35:25 EDT 2010
Subject: Rambling Poem on Grief

For over ten years, I had processed life with you. It helped me to process life with God in turn; You did not understand me most of the time, But you responded with a head move, a noise, I would call it talking to me, and you would great me always. You loved me unconditionally at all times even as you died, And helped me to believe that God did the same. I am really struggling processing my life now – Don’t process very well in my head and I cannot seem to get over this disconnect with You, Abba. In my head, I know You are here.. And in my head, I will talk to You, But that makes me go in loops and circles Which never seem to get nowhere And then I just turn to meditating which processes nothing. I try to talk out loud, but are You really here? Do You really care and will You really respond to me? I break down with people who seem so much safer; I run away and avoid the whole thing, Making everything build up worse and worse. I fight to take care of myself, my constant battle When I just want to do something to shut down, I get annoyed because even the slightest thing done Makes me feel sick, disgusting, and worse than I started! So, I lay here having actually taken care of myself today. Having melted down to a friend and runaway multiple times, I have trapped myself in the tiny space of my room And as I am in here I feel cluster phobic because of my stubbornness. You gave me a beautiful day of rain, picking peaches, and friends, But it had this void in it; this overwhelming sadness and loss. You have taken my companion and want me to turn to You, But I refuse to let You comfort me in my grieve. You did this hurtful thing, You allowed more pain and suffering; Why should I let You touch my heart with Your tenderness? And if I don’t I am left with more insanity then I can handle, I am hedged in yet again, perfectly by Your plan. A choice of five hours of comfort and then finally a good night sleep, Or five hours of mental torture and more restless, fighting sleep. Why didn’t You make me nice soft, easy soil for Your seeds?

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