What a hard week I've had, a hard week indeed. For those of you who understand the Twitter world, I simply tweeted #hardday yesterday, and I was so amazed to have so many of my colleagues stop by my desk to check on me today. I'm so very grateful to work in such a supportive, caring environment.
Why so hard? Well, if you're reading this and you really want to know, it all stems from my memory. It seems that this week, my brain has decided to have flashbacks to the night and day after Tony's accident. Sure, it also doesn't help that every major network in Atlanta plays commercial after commercial advertising Stone Mountain right now. I do my best to put my fingers in my ears, shut my eyes, and yell "la la la la" until it's over. Hey, my counselor told me whatever works to get me past it is just fine. Funny that it's not much different from my days as a child when we would visit the laser show at Stone Mountain on the 4th of July. I would react the same way to the fireworks. Gosh, that place just doesn't hold good memories for me. Hard.
These flashbacks cause a continual question running a marathon through my head, "Did I really live through that? Is that really a part of my story? Really?" I am so very grateful that I don't wake up to that question every day. Quite honestly, I sometimes go weeks without dwelling on how Tony died. Sure, I don't go a day without missing him and our life together, but I'm finding those memories make me smile, more than cry these days. Comfort.
I did put on my big girl pants and revisit those horrific 12 hours of March 23-24, 2010, with my counselor yesterday. Part of grief is just "getting it out" and I had not had the courage to do it before now. It was painful, a little sickening to my stomach, but one thing surprised me in a comforting way: Some details of my nightmare have faded. I don't recall it all like I did in those early weeks. It's a bit fuzzy, and fuzzy is more than okay with me. Grateful.
I drove home last night with a view of the moon, one of my most favorite reminders of our amazing God. Atlanta being a "sauna" this week, the sky was hazy, and the moonlight appeared fuzzy. Chris Tomlin's "Indescribable" came on my Ipod, and I could not hold back my tears. That fuzzy moon was just for me; it was God reminding me that He knows my pain, He walked through my nightmare with me, and He, my Creator God, can turn what is so clear, yet so indescribably painful to recall, into faded and fuzzy. He reminded me in that moment that He is not only the God of my heart and my life, He is the God of my memory too.
You, Lord, are amazing.
Dearly loved, fuzzy thinking,