I have this daydream where I come home like I always do to find Stephanie working on dinner and the kids come running into my arms. She tells me when the food will be ready, we kiss and embrace, and I melt to feel her in my arms again. How many days that has been the story. It never lost its meaning to me, and now there’s a threat to that ever happening again.
I miss her.
I miss normalcy and being home.
I have bounced around so much between all the different emotions associated with something like this. Most often I find myself back at one emotion: anger.
I’m angry that this could happen so suddenly. How does this happen? How is it that a week ago, we were both at home, enjoying a wonderful relaxing day together, and yet 2 hours later, my world crashed. I’m really angry that it happened, and I hate how quickly it did. There is no ignoring the thousands of “what ifs” even though I know it does no good and is only making things worse for me.
I’m angry that we thought seizures couldn’t do her any harm. I’m aware that the seizure itself hasn’t done this, but we had no idea that she could stop breathing and have cardiac arrest because of a seizure. I’m mad I didn’t know that. And that’s a “what if” – I might have called 911 even sooner (not that I waited that long, but I’ve seen so many seizures, I didn’t call immediately). Of course, I would have spent the past year even more terrified, I suppose.
I’m angry for my kids. Don’t get me wrong – it’s going to be beyond miserable for me if God decides not to heal her. But my kids will not have their mother to raise them, and that’s just not fair.
I’m angry because it isn’t fair. That’s one thought I have constantly. She’s 33! That’s not fair. It’s not fair to her, or to me, or to my kids. It’s not fair that her own grandparents, let alone parents, will bury her.
I’m angry because of how good we had it. We loved our life together so much, and it’s not fair that it was cut so short. I’m glad we managed to cram 50 years into 5, it seems, but I wanted to cram 500 years into 50. I want my wife back and I want my marriage back and I want normalcy back.
I’ve managed to be careful about being angry at God. In general, I’m not angry at Him. I don’t blame Him for this. I know it’s only because of man’s sin that pain and death exist. And I’m angry at man and sin for that. I know “all” the answers for times like this. I know God knows what He’s doing. I guess what frustrates me is that I don’t know what He’s doing and I wish He would tell me. I’m angry to not know.
I’m so weary of waiting. I am so completely worn out. My heart is stretched and my eyes are heavy and my mind is exhausted and my emotions are spent. I have felt everything so powerfully over the past week, and now I am just at a stand still of sorts. I don’t want to be here anymore, but being at the hospital is not the problem. Being in this “place” is the problem.
I’m not just a little angry, either. I want to rage out, grab the chair I’m sitting in and start smashing it into things. Sadly, I’m a rational and non-destructive person and can’t get myself to do just that. (Maybe later, though.)
I hate to talk about a righteous anger because that just seems like a cop-out to me for being angry. I’m not trying to make excuses, or to make it sound like I have every right to be angry. But at the same time, I can’t find any reason not to be.