The
death of a dream.
So
there I was now or soon to be; single with two babies, no job, bills to pay,
and a house that was falling apart. My
faith my life and my church had not prepared me for this. I was in shock, depressed, stressed,
defeated, and lost. My dream, the only
dream that I had ever had in my deepest heart had been to be married and have a
family. But I had lost the fight to keep
my marriage alive. I had been defeated. I think that this was the first time in my
life that I had come to the realization that I was not in control. All of who I had ever thought I was had been
stripped from the core of me, leaving me bare, naked, exposed, raw, and
bleeding. All of my life's desire had
been ripped from my heart and torn from my life leaving nothing worthwhile
behind. At least that was how it seemed
at the time.
My
dream was dead.
Life
was now a matter of going through the motions.
My heart had been removed and only the shell of me was left to pick up
the pieces. There were no friends, no church,
no family, no one anywhere that could or would help me. I was alone.
I don’t know how but life did go on, day by day by day, hour by hour by
hour, moment by moment by moment. My mind
was in a fog and I have no idea how I got a job, took care of my children or
did all of the other day to day things that had to be done. Much of that time period in my life I have
forgotten or pushed into that deep abyss in my mind and heart that holds my
greatest fears, deepest hurts, and greatest losses. That place was already overflowing and now as
I had always feared it was about to burst open and spew out all of the ugliness
that I had been trying to hide there. I
could no longer hold back the force of it all. My will was broken and my strength gone.
It
happened one evening when I was working, as a waitress again, trying to
continue on with life. But I didn’t even
know why. I was depressed, beyond
suicidal, so numb and uncaring that even my precious children mattered little
to nothing to me. It was at this time
that I gave up. My pain was so deep that
I could no longer face anything and everything in me was shutting down. I had no will left, I could not even speak
any more. I was completely broken.
They
called Scott, the only contact that I had there. My husband, or soon to be ex (I can’t
remember which it was at that point) was, fortunately for me, a psych
nurse. He was not an unkind person and
he did have compassion for me. So he
came and because of him I was not locked away with the rest of societies throw-aways. That would have truly been hell.
Looking
back I shudder at the thought of how close I had come to being put into that
place. Even now recalling that trauma
the pain floods over me afresh and I type through the veil of tears that memory
evokes. There are no words that can
describe that kind of despair, pain, loneliness, and hopelessness.
It
was a long road back to sanity. They say
that a depression that deep is not dangerous until one begins to recover and
comes up to the level of caring again.
Then is when suicide watch is needed.
I passed through those days as well not because of healing and not
because of anyone's care for me, not even my own. Time is NOT a healer, these things are as
real to me today as they were 30 years ago.
The pain is still just as fresh and palpable. I can only go there because of the healing of
God. It is His love and nothing else
that could ever begin to reach the depth of my need at that time. There was no church, there were no people, no
governmental intervention, no physician, no one and nothing there to get me
through it. Only God. He was the last spark left in me and He is
why I am alive today. He is why I am
able to live and serve and move. I have
no idea how He did it because I did not participate in that healing
initially. It has occurred over many
years and through many more battles fought and won with His help.
Learning
to live without a dream was hollow. I
was tempted to fall back in the old way I lived before I knew Jesus. But I knew that there was much pain there
also. I could only walk one step at a
time towards the promise that He had given me.
I did not feel it. I did not even
want it most of the time. I simply
functioned most of the time. Like I said
I do not recall much of those years.
Somehow God (with a little help from me) was able to take care of my
children and they have grown up to be followers of Christ. They would be able to tell more about that
time than I could. But there are a few
real moments of it that were so impactful that they remain in my memory. One of those was the peanut butter jar lid
incident.
I
had gone back to school and was working at the same time. I had moved and was buying the house we lived
in. There was progress and purpose in my
life. I had found a church and was
active in it. I was part of the praise
and worship team, a soloist and song leader.
There was not a service that I missed and I had friends that cared about
me. life had found equilibrium for me
and my children. I guess it was about 2
years after the divorce that I was going to make a sandwitch for my son and I
could not open the lid of the peanut butter jar. I am a physically strong woman and I am
stubburn, (more than most people my daughter would say more than anyone else
she knows). So I worked on that lid for
a long time and the more I worked on it the more I began to feel those feelings
again of being alone. I broke again. I must have sat on the floor in the kitchen
for hours crying and sobbing over that lid.
Of course it was not really the lid.
It was that once again I realized that there was no one to hand that jar
to and ask for help to open it. There
was no daddy to dance with my daughter, no father to teach my son how to be a
man. There was no husband, no companion,
no lover, no best friend to spend my time with and grow old with to enjoy our
golden years with.
It
was like he had died, but more cruel in my mind because every two weeks I had
to watch as he scooped up our children and took them away to treat them to
goodies and have a weekend of fun and games with. I had to answer the phone when he called and
had to deal with our financial arrangements for our children's care. Constant reminders of my failure and
loss. Ever present and though the
feelings I had once had for him were not the same the loss of being able to
give love and feel loved came to my door and looked me in the eyes.
He
had changed also, I could see it in him too but we did not speak of it. It was over and finished. He had remarried and was not happy either,
but there was no going back now.
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