I guess that I didn't realize it, but I have been angry about a lot of things. Things I can't do anything about. On top of it all, the last few weeks I've barely had time to swim, and when I don't exercise, emotions get hard to handle. The last few days have been filled with grief--nothing bad has happened, but I've been reminded of my Dad, reminded of my brother, constantly. Sunday night, I saw an elderly man who could have been my Dad's twin from a profile view of him. My hubby saw this gentleman first, and it unsettled him. He warned me to spare me the shock of it and I was thankful that he did. The resemblance of his profile to my Dad was uncanny, and then he moved and I saw his face--and the resemblance faded--thankfully, because I ended up in a conversation with this gentleman after our meeting, and I wanted to treat him graciously, and not stare at him because he looked like the father I lost four years ago. This gentleman was lovely, and appreciative and thankfully, his voice didn't sound at all like my Dad's voice. He had a different voice,and a different face. A more robust way of moving, a more vigorous way of being. Tell yourself the truth girlfriend, this is NOT your dad.
I threw myself into the pool today. I forced myself to go--I needed to and I didn't want to. I did the whole swim, all 36 laps of it, counting each one laboriously, not sure I would get past 7. Not thinking. Just strokes, this is my first lap, and I'm swimming till I get to my second lap, till I get to my third...determination, gritting my teeth, getting done, taking my shower and getting my sorry self out of there. There was no joy in my swim-it was more like a hair shirt that I had to put on, and then take off.
This little pin was my brother's. I wear it on my green jacket. I miss him more than I can say.
His death was so shocking, and so ridiculous. I found myself angry all over again--why didn't people close to him, who saw him every day get it? Why didn't they see that he was killing himself and why didn't they do something to help him? His belly was swollen. His legs were full of fluid. His face was ashen and gray. I was 3,000 miles away, and he hid it all, quite well.
"Sometimes I think I'm going to get into my car and drive and drive till I hit the ocean," he once said to me. "Well, Stu, point your car west and north and come stay with us a while. You need a rest. We'd love to have you come and stay for a few weeks. I could show you all over San Francisco, we've got ocean here, and it's lovely..." My brother looked at me quizzically, as if to say, "Do you really mean it?" I answered back with a nod of my head. "Of course I do!"
"Well, I'll think about it. That would be something, wouldn't it?"
It would have indeed. And I grieve over the fact that it was never to be. I had a fantasy of cooking him all kinds of delicious healthy foods, taking him to a good doctor who would give him a good going over, and seeing his health restored.
Stu never drove out to the Pacific.
No one seemed to notice that he was as ill as he was.
His death was a shock to all of his friends back in our home town.
It left a Grand Canyon hole there.
It's rather pointless to be angry at Stu's friends. Even if they had worked together to try to do something, Stu was as stubborn as they come. "They don't call us the stiff-necked people for nothing!" I need to remember as I feel these fresh waves of sorrow, or old waves splashing up on my shore that this didn't happen randomly. There's God's Sovereignty. God's goodness. Not a sparrow falls without Him knowing. His purposes are being done even in the death of these loved ones who may never have come out of the darkness into the light.
I question many things, but I am not questioning my God or His will. His ways are beyond me--and in my better moments, I remember that and worship. Job's response was to worship the Almighty when he lost all of his goods, and then suffered the loss of all ten of his children children (TEN! This boggles my mind and makes me dizzy and stomach sick when I think about it.). Job worshiped--even when his wife could not wasn't coping with her anger so well.
I want to worship, I want to praise, even though my tears are pouring down my face. I thought I was all cried out. I was wrong. I needed to throw myself into the pool and I kept swimming, to find out that even after three years, there are still tears left to cry.
