Saturday, January 27, 2018

Where I Am

I need a safe outlet to say this:  I'm terrified of the anniversary of Griffin's accident.

St. Patrick's Day will be exactly one year since the worst day of my life.

A few months after the accident, as I started to heal, I imagined the one year anniversary.  I envisioned a celebration of Griffin's life and a tribute to what God did for us.  Maybe we would have a party to commemorate being survivors.  No longer would I feel nauseated at the sight of the color green.  Green would be our banner of proclamation that God gave us a miracle.

As we turned over a new year, January brought me the realization that I'm not where I thought I'd be.


Pinterest and Instagram are flooded with Valentine's Day images, but St. Patrick's Day ideas are sprinkled into my feeds.  Every time I see any reference to the green holiday, it's like a silent punch to my gut.

Rather than hosting a big celebration, I literally don't want to leave my house on March 17.  I don't want to see green or shamrocks or people living ordinary lives as if the day is like any other.

This isn't how I want to feel; it's just where I am.

This new year has brought me a fresh batch of flashbacks and fears that the worst things imaginable can actually happen.  I pray through each situation and fight my urge to keep my children in my view at all times.

I look forward to a time when I don't notice casual references to death.  I want to forgive the color green.  And jumpropes.  And swingsets.  And St. Patrick.

I'm relearning spiritual lessons I thought I already learned.  I need to tend to wounds I thought were healed.  I need to write a blog post that isn't well thought out or witty or wisdom-packed.

I need to say some of the things that have been weighing me down.  So much for where I thought I'd be.  I need to start where I really am.


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