Storms

Grasping, reaching, pulling, fumbling, falling. Desperately trying to find something solid and sturdy to hold on to. I feel God's presence, I feel His love, and yet I need something more concrete to grasp at this point in my life. Not in faith. But in solid ground....literal, poured concrete, ground.

Every day is a continued battle. I struggle with a constant depression, and grow tired of answering "fine" or "same" when asked how my day was, how I'm feeling, or if there is something I need to talk about. There's nothing. Nothing will bring back my dad. Nothing will help this unending, almost unbearable pain. I sit home and I feel numb. I go to work and it lingers in the back of my mind. I feel so different now, so grounded. A part of me is no longer there...the part that had a father, a family. Though it may be a normal stage of grief, its low-lying and almost unnoticeable nature causes it to be undermined by those around you.

Strong. What exactly does that mean? I'm told I am strong, to stay strong, I don't have to be strong. But what does "strong" look like in such a horrible situation? Does it mean not crying? Does it mean continuing on with life? Does it mean loving and supporting others? Does it mean pulling your loved ones closer to you? I want to know how "strong" appears to others, how they are drawing the conclusion that I fit this lucid description.

It's amazing how perspective changes in what truly matters when life is lost. Life is so short, so mortal. I knew this, obviously, but did I really pay attention? Did I grab every moment and hold it close to my heart? Did I make certain to leave each person in such a way that I would be satisfied with the certainty that they felt my love should something happen to either one of us? Did I love--and live--with my entire heart, no holding back, no protecting, no fear?

My mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions each and every day. I try to continue on with my regular schedule. To expect full work out of myself, full hours. Yet at any moment, I break into tears--complicated more-so by the inability to pour out onto my clients or even shed light into what's happening in my own heart.

When does the tornado stop? When do the waves stop crashing long enough for me to find relief on the sandy shore, just long enough to crash into a deep, swirling sleep?