What images or sentiments does the word excruciating conjure for you dear reader?
Forever a tableau
I recall the day my father died. The scene grips me, forever a tableau in my memory; stills, shot by my minds eye, captured to haunt me and have me face reality as it is and not how I would like it to be. What if I pretended to be blind? What if I was blind, to reality? Could I possibly change what I saw, what I knew to be true? Could I erase history and make it different somehow, form new captured images, and undo the death scenes, the ones that I know happened that changed my future? I weep now, knowing that no matter how hard I might try, no matter what images I prefer, I cannot change the ones that were, and the ones that are... there is evidence everywhere of what is and I must, of necessity and for my soulful well being, accept (this sentence cannot end with a period: acceptance is an on going, never ending story dear one)
Death and Divorce
Here, I will give you the whole enchilada, for our clarity, yours and mine. My marriage is broken, seemingly irreparable. This is excruciating. "They" say, divorce is like death but far worse. I hate to agree but I must. The only way I could accept my fathers death was to recall him lying dead, with tubes protruding from him, evidence that there had been extraordinary measures taken to keep his body from expiring, from giving up on this world, this life.
Forever a tableau
I recall the day my father died. The scene grips me, forever a tableau in my memory; stills, shot by my minds eye, captured to haunt me and have me face reality as it is and not how I would like it to be. What if I pretended to be blind? What if I was blind, to reality? Could I possibly change what I saw, what I knew to be true? Could I erase history and make it different somehow, form new captured images, and undo the death scenes, the ones that I know happened that changed my future? I weep now, knowing that no matter how hard I might try, no matter what images I prefer, I cannot change the ones that were, and the ones that are... there is evidence everywhere of what is and I must, of necessity and for my soulful well being, accept (this sentence cannot end with a period: acceptance is an on going, never ending story dear one)
Death and Divorce
Here, I will give you the whole enchilada, for our clarity, yours and mine. My marriage is broken, seemingly irreparable. This is excruciating. "They" say, divorce is like death but far worse. I hate to agree but I must. The only way I could accept my fathers death was to recall him lying dead, with tubes protruding from him, evidence that there had been extraordinary measures taken to keep his body from expiring, from giving up on this world, this life.
My marriage, it is in the throws of death, and it would appear that no extraordinary measures have been taken to rescue it from deaths grip, at least, none that can be seen, by human eyes. I have prayed dear one, I have been on my knees without ceasing but alas, some things are not to be. I have still shots of this too, the remember whens, the good, the bad, and the proverbial ugly. Mostly, I have to face what is, knowing I cannot retrieve, pull back, grab hold of someone, who has let go of me, of us.
Death in its wake
The difference between death and divorce, is choice. It is similar but I can say with confidence, that it is incomparable in too many ways to count. Divorce without extraordinary measures to prevent its happening, is murderous. It kills relationship and leaves death in its wake. Relationships that had forever stamped on them become things that slowly rot with a fowl distasteful odour.
Middle ground mud
You will not get a solution, resolution, how-to-plan here. You are getting the snap shot reality that I face, that I live. I am not alone in this murky middle ground mud: many stand with me, in the thick of it. My solace is in Christ. My comfort is in the knowing that to love like Him, means to feel the pain of rejection, and the sting of witnessing death, accompanied by the excruciating pain of being incapable of asking someone to turn back and walk toward, rather than away. We cannot choose for one another: this is the gift of freedom of will and I would not have it any other way.
Middle ground mud
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| Free will: a gift from God |
My solace... is in Christ Jesus wept (John 11:35)
These words, they are balm to my soul. They tell us that Jesus knew, and knows, how grievous separation and physical loss can be.
He weeps when we do
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