Some days I find it hard to simply catch my breath.
One tiny moment can change my day.
I feel like I’m suffocating.
It comes so unexpectedly.
Out of nowhere, the flood hits.
It crashes over me, leaving my gasping for air.
“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe,” I say.
“Help me, Lord.”
The tears pour out of my eyes.
I gasp more.
I still can’t breathe.
I attempt long breaths, but they don’t come easy.
I moan as if I’ve been deeply wounded, as if I’m dying.
For a brief moment, I think death might be easier than this pain.
The pain is unbearable.
The aching in my heart feels like my chest has been ripped open and someone is tearing it to shreds.
It always hits when I’m alone.
Today, it happened again.
It was brought on by a song.
A song I listened to and sang to the Lord over and over again in the last year.
One note. One word. And, I’m down. I’m drowning and the waves of grief begin.
I have two choices:
Get out of the water or dive into the grief.
Today, I chose to dive. It hurts so much to dive in.
It’s much easier to get out of the water, get away from what triggered the wave, switch gears, refocus my mind, bury it to be dealt with at another time. But, today, I couldn’t.
The song put me back in time, back to moments with my girl, but mostly, moments with the Lord, begging for my girl’s healing here on earth. It was all so vivid … all those days, that particular song was playing, and I told the Lord how much confidence and faith I had in Him … how I knew that just the mention of the name of Jesus would change everything and should change everything.
And, then I’m gasping for air again.
The pain of loss is unshakeable. Grief is unpredictable. It’s like a cloud hanging over you all day. Sure, you can live with that cloud. It’s just there. It’s always there, but you never know when the rain or lighting will hit. You never know what could trigger it to storm.
The drowning begins.
The gasping begins.
I just try to catch my breath and steady my heart.
I know that I can’t do this on my own.
I have to have Jesus.
I have to have hope.
I have to know that I will see her again.
That’s how grief feels. It leaves you breathless. It causes you to work as hard as you can just to get your breath back.
It’s something we never “get over.”
It’s something we will live with until that final day.
And, in that moment, the hope I have will finally be reality.
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