I’m sitting at my computer with a website open that I can only look at briefly, before clicking over to another page – like this one.
I’m getting ready to order a cross that will be placed on the highway at the site of the accident. I want to order it, but typing Kalkidan’s name and dates in the order form makes me feel nauseated and tearful.
Last night I talked with Russ about ordering the cross. Literally as I was speaking, I could hear another part of my brain saying to me, “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I can’t believe I have a child who died. I shouldn’t need to order a cross….”
Will it ever seem true?
Every once in awhile the thought floats through my mind that I should call the funeral home and have them tell me that my daughter really died. I know she did. I saw her in the hospital and later in the funeral home, but I can’t quite grasp it.
Earlier this morning I had a dental appointment and the hygienist reviewed my medical history. She asked about hospitalizations and I mentioned the accident. Later she asked where the accident happened and, as I’ve learned to do, I told her it was the accident after Christmas on Highway 95, and we lost our daughter. Nearly everyone I meet in our community knows about our accident.
I was glad that I spent the next 45 minutes unable to speak as she cleaned my teeth. I was close to tears all morning.
When I got home, our puppy had chewed up one of the fuzzy socks a friend gave me in the hospital. I’ve worn them on so many cold mornings. I cried.
I turned on my computer, opened my email, and found at least two emails from the middle school parent list. I tried to remove myself once and it all seemed too complicated, so I just delete each email as it comes.
I feel too sad, too tired; I want to curl up on the sofa and never leave my house. If only my kids didn’t need to be fed, clothed, and cared for – then I could watch Netflix and do my best to avoid my feelings for hours at a time.
This is a low day; tomorrow may be better. As Russ told Ebenezer the other day, “Feelings come and go. This one will pass too.”
Thank you, Jesus, for that.
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