My hands were leaning on the bathroom counter, my head
bowed, with tears dripping off my cheeks. I wasn’t praying; I just could not bear
to see the reflection in the mirror any longer. I did not want to be here, with
my left knee on the scooter and my back still radiating with pain, starting a
New Year without Sophia. How do I go another day – another year - with pain,
with the deafening silence of a premature empty nest, trying my hardest to
muster up enough strength to start another day.
This was too much like before. I was reliving the accident over
and over every night when I climbed in bed with ice on my ankle and then
recalling the sting of pain as I woke up unable to walk again without shoes. This
latest surgery had been only two months ago, and the joys of the holidays and
being with the children during that time made the first weeks bearable. Now I was
left to suck it up, get dressed and wrap my ankle in that confining brace yet
again.
I was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with the pain. Overwhelmed with
the heartache. Overwhelmed with daily activities that drain the life out of me.
It was a rough, first full week of work after the holidays
with meetings each day to spur the activities that would be taking place this
semester. I thrive in a scheduled life, but getting back into the swing of
things this time seemed to take much more effort than anticipated.
To end my week, I had lunch with Carolyn. I am extremely thankful to have her in my
life, but not thankful for the reason that brought us together. Her daughter
Hollie and Sophia were in show choir together and passed away just months
apart. We sat down in a booth at a local
restaurant, not looking around or paying attention to others enjoying their lunches.
We shared our feelings, hurts, tears and it was time for me to head back to
work.
The waiter came to our table and informed us someone paid for
our meal, and we immediately wanted to know who. We asked for details of the
person, but the staff honored the donor’s wishes to remain anonymous.
Did that person know our story? Did he or she know the pain
we shared and that while being together never eases the emptiness, we are
thankful to have each other to lean on knowing we understand the deep hurt. Tears
began to sneak out between our eyelashes as we tried to hide them from the
young waiter. We were speechless for a while, gathering our emotions that now come so
quickly to the surface. Since we were unaware of our surroundings, we honestly are uncertain who it was that blessed us that day. It may have been
a close friend or a person who was obedient to God’s leading and had no idea
the struggles we face daily.
I was overwhelmed as I left our eating venue. My tears were on a steady march from my
eyes driving back to the office. I recalled what appeared to be little things
that happened all during that week, but it was really God’s reminder the He was
taking care of me. I was overwhelmed by the acts of kindness shown by others.
- The two cases of Diet Dr. Pepper in my chair at work from a co-worker
- My yard being cleaned and mowed by husbands of my Bunko babes
- The research my friend did to help me find a counselor who specializes in trauma
- A new washing machine installed since the last one died before Christmas
- Starting a new Bible Study at church about trusting God
- My Bunko babes that were coming over that night to help me take down and pack up my Christmas decorations.
Sometimes we miss the small ways
God is taking care of us when life deals us a big blow, like the death of a
loved one. Isaiah 41:10 says, “Do not fear, for I am with you; do not anxiously
look about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you, surely I will help
you; Surely I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”
Back at work, I sat at my desk
with my hands on my keyboard, no mascara to be found, still overwhelmed.
Overwhelmed that each and every
day begins and ends without Sophia here with us. But God reminds me –
sometimes repeatedly – that He is still the one in control. No matter my
heartache, no matter my physical pain, He is a God who can be trusted with my
life and my damaged heart.
