Trudging left a comment on my last post 'God is somewhere there...in the details.' I kept reading that statement over and over and realized that thought should be something I remember every single day. I'm not sure she knows just how profound that statement is but usually that's when statements have the most effect, when we just speak from the heart with little fore thought.
God has always been a part of my life. He's been there for the lowest points when I almost believed He'd forgotten me. He's been there for the highlights when I was grateful that He'd remembered me. There have been moments I questioned His intentions; moments I teetered on the edge of faith. Somehow I've managed to keep believing. It's been no picnic, no ride on the merry-go-round, rather it's been like climbing an enormous mountain with all the wrong gear. Once or twice I've reached the top of that mountain only to realize that climbing back down was a much harder task. I suppose where I'm going with all this is that I often forget to look close enough while I'm in those moments that test my faith - and see God in the details. It's usually only after the moment's passed that I give God credit for helping me survive.
It's hard to imagine that God was there, somewhere in the details, of that horrible tragedy at Virginia Tech. It's hard to imagine that God was there, somewhere in the details, as that Blue Angel pilot plunged to his death as his parents looked on from the crowd of spectators. But I'm going to try, to figure it out, to see Him, to believe He was there. Maybe He was the last thought of a loved one that passed through the mind of a victim. Maybe he was the light that someone saw as they left this world. Maybe he was holding the hand of that pilot so he wouldn't be scared of what was coming. Maybe he was the distraction that made his mother look away as his plane fell from the sky. He was there, in the details. Details matter more than anything. Thank you Trudging for reminding me to pay attention to detail.
It's been a busy week and it sure started off the wrong way. You know when I first heard about the Virginia Tech shooting I sort of...didn't pay attention. I know that sounds horrible but sometimes I just get so caught up in my own stuff like work, kids, husband, that I forget I am not an enigma. But now as I sit here in the dimly lit space I call my living room, my husband is away on a business trip, my babies are fast asleep, and it's just me and my cats Leo and Bobo trying to soak up all the 'quietness'. So now, I spend moments thinking about what happened in Virginia. I think about the husbands, wives, lovers, brothers, sisters, friends - people that no longer exist and the ones that are left behind. Sometimes they say tragedy unites but if that's true why are so many people left torn apart? I can understand how life can make someone feel 'ganged up on', how it can make you feel bloodied and bruised, but I cannot understand how you could be so angry, so hopeless, so lost in despair, that you would drag innocent people right out of this world with you. I suppose part of me doesn't want to understand because if I did, if I could, then I may have to accept that some people really are evil.
So I've said a prayer, for them, for me, for my kids, for my friends, for the people I know, for the ones I don't, for people everywhere - that they may stay unburied, unbruised, unbloodied. Sometimes it's so hard to have hope but somehow we must believe that there is more goodness than evil, more peace than war, more time - to make us all have faith again.
I can hardly believe it's been over a week since I posted. Time flies doesn't it, well actually for some - it -stands - still.
Over Easter I went back home to see my mom and my step dad. Some of you may remember that he's now in a nursing home and he has Alzheimer's. It's been awhile since he could leave because his condition is getting so much worse so quickly so I took my kids to see him. As I walked through the front door the smell of urine and 'despair' was just about enough to choke me. It amazed me how my 3 year old never turned up her nose, never noticed that something smelled awful, instead she just smiled and ran to Papa to give him a hug. She didn't seem to notice that Papa now lives somewhere else with other people or that he can't talk as much as he used to. He can hug her and that's about all that matters in her world. God what I wouldn't give to be able to make things so simple in my own life. So we're sitting there pretending that things are not as grim as they seem and I begin looking around at the other 'lost souls' who seemed frozen in time. Some have visitors, some don't. Some smile because that's all they remember how to do, some cry - because that's the only thing left they can do. Each and every one of those 'people' appear to be waiting for something. I hesitate to say it's death they wait for but if I'm honest, it is all that's left for most. My step father is only a shell of the man I used to know. Somewhere deep inside there are remnants of him, but as hard as I try I cannot see them anymore. My daughter sees them but I'm starting to believe it's almost like believing in Santa Claus, the older you get, the less real he becomes. I wonder if some day only the 'virgin eyes' of a child will be able to find me in the shell that becomes my home. I hope not.
Before we left I hugged my step dad as tight as I could hoping that somehow he'd feel my touch down to the parts that still remember how wonderful it feels to be loved. I think the saddest part this disease is knowing he will die without the memory of a life lived, a life loved, a life full of so much more than he has right now.
I keep picturing my sweet Alice kissing her papa's cheek just before we walked away and I'm praying that for him, time is frozen in that moment.