Saturday, July 29, 2006

Self-centered and Apologetic

Dear Anonymous:

You are right. I am self-centered. As are you. As was Dalton. As is my precious son Iain. As is all of humanity. It is our nature. It is why we disobeyed God in the first place. And, it is why we continue to do so. Nevertheless, for most of the day, I try not to be. I wake up in the morning and I fix breakfast for my son. We read stories. We sing. I tell him about his daddy. We chase each other around the house. I do my best.

This blog is more of an open journal and ongoing prayer. Like the Psalms without the "God-inspiration" part. I've never been much of an emotional exhibitionist. Yet the blog lets me express my grief so that friends and family know my pain and my struggle. So they can pray and care for me as Jesus tells us all to do. Including you.

It is self-indulgent. If it offends you, pray for me. It is whiny, and that offends me. But for right now, it's all I have the strength for. Your rant is whiny and self-righteous and you have no excuse (forgive me, God).

In fact, I regularly thank God that Dalton now longer suffers. I appreciate that he is free from all of his burdens. It is my own loss and Iain's loss that I grieve and that is quite normal. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall know comfort. And while that comfort will ease the pain, it will not be reieved until I am done with this temporal life and am living in the eternal.

As for my faith, judge not lest ye be judged. I take comfort in knowing that both scripture and the writings of past saints affirm my angst, my anger, my pain, my weakness, and my joy. It assures me that even when I question, God remains. I would encourage you to spend some time reviewing scripture with an open heart. Read the Psalms. Read David's words. Reivsit the disciples' lives. Consider Paul. Even Jesus whose relationship to God surpasses most human understanding cries out "Why have you forsaken me?"

And, do not fall into the trap of the Pharisees, to whom Jesus says, "And you experts in the law, woe to you, because you load people down with burdens they can hardly carry, and you yourselves will not lift one finger to help them."

"Woe to you Pharisees, because you give God a tenth of your mint, rue and all other kinds of garden herbs, but you neglect justice and the love of God. You should have practiced the latter without leaving the former undone."

The entire law is summed up in a single command: "Love your neighbor as yourself." And with that, I will pray for your wretched soul.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Done Blogging

Wow. I may not be blogging anymore. Below is a comment I just received. Truly, I am just flabbergasted. I think I will wait before I respond because right now, my response would not only be self-centered, but pointed nasty. I hope I never gave anyone the impressioin that I was perfect. Cheers.

"Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "Whose Blog Is It Anyway.": When Dalton was here and I use to read your blogs, I thought you were very "self-centered". Now,you've just confirmed it!! I feel sorry for you! You think too much of yourself, what "I" feel, what "I" want, what "I", "I", "I". You need to grow up and go on with your life. You have a son and that's more than many woman out there are asking for. Dalton may be gone and you may experience the loss and the pain, but you're going way off the hill. You should be thanking God Dalton is not here suffering the "cancer pain" and that's more than your pain. Your pain will ease over time, maybe many months, or even years, but eventually it will go away. There was nothing to cure or to ease Dalton's pain! I guess you never had faith either. If you did, you would not feel the way you do about God. God is not stubborn or grants us our wishes when we want to. He decides, he owns our lives, He has a plan which may not be your plan. You're a coward. You want the easy way out!! Vegas, gambling, drinking --- start taking care of Iain!"

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Panic. Pain

Gasping. Can't breathe. Tired of this pain. Tonight.

Before you read...

A dear friend just commented that the following post will likely piss off some of my readers. I really hope not. If any Christian doubts or questions our ability to struggle with faith and wrestle with God, I highly recommend CS Lewis' "A Grief Observed." If Lewis can question God and his goodness as he grieves, then surely it is ok for me. I'll come out on the other side because God is the author and finisher of my faith. If it depended on me, I wouldn't be here in the first place.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Whose Blog Is It Anyway.

So many acquaintances and even friends say "You have such incredible faith. You are an inspiration." or "Your faith has so clearly sustained you. At least that has remained strong." If you are one of these, please don't be offended, but I often find myself wondering, "Whose blog have you been reading, anyway?"

I've finally come to the conclusion that you are seeing what you want to see, what you ernestly pray for, what you desperately desire - a young woman who has suffered a terrible loss, but is nonetheless being wrapped in God's comforting arms and palpable love. Reality

My faith continues to be a struggle. More of an exercise in discipline and reason than love and attraction. I stay this path because I have no choice. I cannot deny what God has done for me in the past. I can't deny that he led me out of Egypt and captivity through miraculous means (a metaphor of course). I cannot deny how he spared Dalton once before and offered us joy when we didn't deserve it. No matter how much I would prefer to discount God, to disbelieve him, my rational mind simply can't chalk up the last ten years to chance.

But then what? Like Lewis, the question then isn't whether God exists, but whether He is good. And what is worse? Believing their is no God or believing that He is evil? Random? Spiteful? Mean. Of course, that kind of talk doesn't do me much good either, because if He is those things then my feelings toward Him don't matter. And if by chance he is a loving God, then I am rejecting my only potential source of comfort.

You know what I want to do for comfort? I want to go to Vegas. Drop Iain off with the grandparents. Put the top down on the convertible. Turn up the volume. Book a room at the Hard Rock. Play really loud music. Drink. Gamble. Lay out by the pool. Embrace my singleness. Do all sorts of things that would absolutely have to "stay in Vegas." Mark my words, it will happen. It's almost a rite of passage. Then - mark my words again - I will come home to the same empty house, missing Dalton even more than I did before my trip, and be no better off.

But I'm angry, and somehow I think this would ease my anger. I'm angry at the God who did this to me. Why did you give us a glimpse of joy and then rip it out from under us? Were we not grateful enough? Did we take too much for granted? If we had been better "children" would you have let us play longer? Sure you exist, but you're mean. You made us this way and then you punsihed us for it. What kind of love is that?

Apparently it's the only one I've got.

So barring any other choices, I'll bring my thinking back around and try to see things in the eternal, to realze that this world is temporal, that ultimately once I get through with all the crap that is now, I wil have permanent joy. It's either a load of crap or the truth. If I bet crap, even if I win, there is no pay off. If I bet truth, at least there is a chance of hitting in big.

Friday, July 21, 2006


Junebugs are fluttering outside my bedroom window. I know this because for the past few minutes, I have heard an intermittent humming followed by a tap, tap tap. It's the kind of thing you only notice when it is very quiet, and it is only ever that quiet when you are alone.

I've always had roomates. I guess I still do if you count Iain, but he goes to bed early and sleeps very quietly. Dalton didn't go to bed early. If anything, I went to bed early and fell asleep to the undercurrent of South Park or Whose Line Is It Anyway. But that was only after he got sick. Normally we went to bed at the same time. And then, even when it was quiet, I didn't hear the junebugs. I can't explain it, but people make noise even when they are quiet. Their very prescence stirs the world around them. Perhaps it is because other parts of who they are occupy our senses and demand our attention. Their smell, their warmth, their subtle movement of breath. Our ears take a backseat, so that even when it is quiet, we are still connected. That is what it is like to be one flesh.

And now, I hear the junebugs.

Does that mean that my body is recognizing the loss? Like the loss of a limb, is my body finally realizing that part of it is missing?

The past two weeks have been harder for me. I cry more often and with less warning. I still don't cry much in front of others, but it has happened. Everyone tells me that the worst is yet to come (six months is supposed to be a doozie), but I wonder how that can be? It is not in my nature to not be effective, to ignore my child, to neglect the bills or the house, so I can't imagine "worse" manifesting in those arenas. Will I simply feel more pain? I can't imagine that either. I suppose we'll have to wait and see.

And yet, the idea of passive suicide sounds so good already. I came across this idea on the blog of another young widow (we're a prolific bunch). She explains that she is too much of a go getter, a strong take charge, I can conquer the world kind of gal to ever kill herself. BUT...(and this is the passive suicide part), if someone diagnosed her with terminal cancer and gave her just a few months to live, she'd be all the happier. That's me. I'd just like to join Dalton and be reunited with the part of my flesh that has gone missing. I know it will happen someday, but give me a break. I am human and impatient and in pain. And I don't like the sound of junebugs.

Saturday, July 15, 2006


Missing in Tennessee. Been gone for the past 8 days. Out in the country with limited computer access. Not feeling much like writing anyway. Wish I had more uplifting stuff to write.

I am doing things. Rearranging furniture. Organizing photos. Sleeping. Lots. Oh, and I registered for school. Told the financial planner that I would be paying my own way within 5 years. Start an RN program on August 28th. Long term goal is to be a nurse practitioner, maybe even work in oncology. Marie Seitz, Dr. Iqbal's nurse practitioner was a rock for us. Would like to be able to give that to someone else.

Don't know how that will go what with sleeping 12 hours a day, but I have to try.

Missing Dalton so terribly. Can't even express it. Thanks to those who miss him too. It helps.

Sunday, July 02, 2006


I can't seem to find the right word for how I am feeling right now. Sad. Tired. Blah. In pain. Anxious. Depressed. Despondant. Longing. Heartbroken.

I think that's it. Heartbroken.

I've yet to understand why the pain from grief seems to be so centered around my heart when it is my mind, body, and spirit that misses him so much. Today is a very bad day. I would like for someone to come out and take Iain for a week so that I could just curl up in bed and cry. Really, I'd rather curl up and die. I just don't want to do this. Iain is so happy and I'm really doing my best to play and laugh and give him a good, stable environment to grow up in , but inside it's killing me. I could have sat all day and just stared out at our yard. Dalton loved our yard. We bought it so that we could entertain and sit out on the patio on days like today and watch the boys run around. Instead, Iain kept bringing me books to read and balls to throw and the patio stared in at me, taunting me with its leftover tablecloths from Dalton's memorial.

I looked at pictures for a long time last night and wanted to share some with those of you who may not know us (and for those that do).

This is us pre-Iain, actually 1999.

This is our favorite candid wedding photo.

This is us goofing off in San Francisco when I was 6 months pregnant.

This is us the day that Iain was born.

This is Daddy introducing Iain to the sublteties of a good Pinot.

This is Love.