Satire meets truth, faith meets irony, despair meets joy, and this over educated debutante escapes the laundry and finds true meaning. Again, wit meets stereotype. Guilt and shame will not overpower my need for personal transparency and the freedom that comes with it. Without mystery, we leave nothing to the imagination and offer up a white flag that comes in the form of brutal honesty, immeasurable seamless faith and hope, a sea of tears from both heartache and silly joy.
I think this blog has been stirring in my heart for the past 20 years, before blog was in Webster's (the original Wikipedia dictionary). However, it was not until my latest trial that I have felt ready to air my laundry. That laundry is my truth, heartache and sorrow, deep tragedy, hopefulness, and love. Truth that is so bright and clean and by being in the open, will hopefully add something of value to the people that encounter it. Amos. The loaded questions, the vague statements, the worried glances, the long silences, they incited fear in me and I feared if I cried, I may never stop. Through prayer and supplication I remembered, ask for help. The peace and grace that anoints me can only be a miracle, though it remains the elephant in the room.
Amos. My latest trial and perhaps, my loveliest. He may not catch up.... It is a concern that his receptive language is delayed....at some point without continued progress, he may not be eligible for any more speech visits...we just don't know, you'll have to wait, what can he do?, is this ALL he does? Does he sit up? Does he roll over? Progress of a four month old. The walls are closing in on me. The grief has welled up and I can't breathe.
It's not cancer. It's not cancer. It's not cancer. Of course, one sadness always meets another doesn't it? They link up like old paper clips, dangling precipitously loose but joined nevertheless. I go to my closet and reach for the tattered yellow notebook with the familiar scrawl of my favorite person on the planet, my adored older brother Adam. I believe that I knew God was onto something as I adored my Adam certainly as much as he adored His. The words scrawled from the left hand of a nineteen year old college boy were filled with hope but oh, they were so false. Wrong wrong wrong. It was cancer after all. And now, my world was gone and my life filled with dark, despair, grieving without hope. You know, I have learned that these feelings are not of God as he offers only good to us and so I liken them to the devil who I believe is lying in wait to steal my joy and remind me of death and how bad it felt.
As I ponder his role in the universe, I am reminded of the good that I have received only due to my brother's death. Never ever a worthwhile trade I often have said but good. The Adrian that lost her brother chose the right kind of husband, developed a penchant for educational success, a need to pass on her brother's wonderful sense of humor, and to be the kind of parent that had molded characteristics that I found perfect.
Back to my Amos. The peace and grace that anoints me can only be a miracle, though it remains the elephant in the room.