Rebelling Against God

I am angry. Once again I've tried to take control of my life and hit failure again. Here is an e-mail I sent to a co-worker today that explains part of it:

"This should probably happen face-to-face but I’m sure I would just sob and I’m not strong enough right now to face that.


The other day you pointed out that I was taking the elevator just one floor down. There was condescension in your look. I should have stood up for myself then but I didn’t. I’m going to do it now.

A couple of months ago I determined that I was going to walk every day. I was going to walk up hills. I was going to walk to enjoy nature and to lose weight. I rediscovered that being outside and moving my body gives me peace and joy. I was walking farther every day and feeling great about myself.

Well, a couple of weeks ago I developed a physical problem that means I can’t do that for at least several months. I’m really mad about that. I have to talk myself into coming to work every day. I have to talk myself into staying at work every day. I cry every day. I’m in pain all the time.

Don’t judge me. You don’t know what any person is carrying. I’m happy that you have lost weight, that you are fit and happy. Frankly I’m jealous. But I have my own path. Hopefully I can find the hope that there’s a reason for this because at the moment I just don’t see it."

Yes, that's right. I just don't see it.

I was putting on my shoes the other morning. I had been in terrible pain for two days. As I reached to put on a shoe pain shot through me. "F___," I said. I felt my mother leaning over my shoulder saying, "Dear, we don't say that word." I screamed "F___,F___, F___!" I sobbed and then I danced. I danced to the music in the muksical Across the Universe. A movie telling the story of life in the late 60's using Beatles music. I am a great dancer and I danced. I cried. I ranted. I danced.

Why can't I catch a break I told my son. I want to give up. I want to quit trying. Yet, here is a quote I found that seems to be all I can do right now:

"Hope begins in the dark; the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up." - Anne Lamott

My flaw seems to be in trying to control my life. Is the answer surrender? Is the answer to cry until there are no more tears?

I just checked out the book Women, Food and God. Wow! She is talking about eating or other obsession being used to avoid pain. To overcome that desire to bolt. Oh yes, I want to bolt. I keep being told to face the pain. To go through it. Must I cry for weeks? I've been running away for years. Now at every turn I feel more pain. Emotional or physical. It moves from one place to another, it is always grows, I can't make it go away. It is demanding my attention.

Restricted Grief

Jeremy was my son born June 4 1983 died June 8, 1983
Monday August 13 I had a horribly painful but yet incredible experience. I want to share it with our family. It is written in a broken style as it came to me in a process with Amanda, Daniel & Sara of Enlighten.

“I can’t breathe. Please help me; I need someone to process me. The pain is suffocating. No inhaler, it’s emotional pain.”

Daniel, “What is it?”
“My baby died.”
Daniel, “What happened?”

“He had a heart defect.”
“Everything was fine at first.” I can see Jeremy lying on my chest. Peaceful, quiet.

The way I find out , my doctor comes and says, “ There is something wrong with your baby. I refuse to do your tubal ligation. If he dies you might change your mind.” He walks away.
“I try to find someone to tell me what’s going on. No one tells me anything.”
"I want to run. He can’t breathe. I can’t stand to watch his pain."
“Then an ultra-sound of his heart. There is something wrong. They are flying him to San Francisco Presbyterian Hospital. I can’t go with him. I have to drive down the following day."
I don’t remember being given a choice of whether Jeremy was going to be taken to San Francisco.
“They took him away from me!”

“My arms hurt!"
“He only has half a heart. He can’t live without surgery. They won’t let me hold him.”
[Coughing so hard. I can’t get it out. I can’t breathe.]
I get to see him once more. To hold him only once more.
They did surgery. ”They used him as a guinea pig. Only a 15% chance of survival. ”

”His heart wouldn’t start.”

”People say I was lucky because he died before I got to know him. I’m lucky because he is in heaven. I don’t feel lucky. ”
”His coffin was so tiny.”
"Why did you take him away from me? He was going to die anyway. You should have left us alone."
”They tell me I’m lucky because I can have more kids, because he is in heaven. I don’t feel lucky!”

I cover my face and sob.
[Coughing so hard. I can’t get it out. Then blackness pours from me.]
Daniel, “Jeremy is here. He says it’s not your fault. He loves you.” I sense Jeremy kneeling at my feet with his hands on my knees, looking up at me.
For the first time I understand his pain. I now see how his pain and mine are intertwined.

Afterward
Over the years Amanda told me Jeremy felt left out. He wanted to bond with us. I didn’t know what to do with that information. He wouldn’t bond with me when he was born like the other kids did.

I begin to experience street lights blinking on or off as I pass by. It happens often. I began to know someone was saying “Hi. I see you. I know you are there and I care.” A month ago I knew it was Jeremy. What a surprise.
I’ve learned that Jeremy wants to be part of our family. He watches us and watches over us. He cares what is happening in our lives. He is part of us.