Stopped Up Tears

A chance meeting on the bus, another caring hug.  Tears like a geyser struggle to break the surface.

A quick change of subject and the feelings subside.  Public transportation is no place to discuss my grief-I hate for people to see me cry-yet the pain still clenches my stomach with tight fingers and tying hundreds of knots.

I long to turn inside out: to slice through the knots, break down the dam of my stubborn pride and let the river of emotion flow.  Only the most steadfast listener could avoid being swept away in the flood.

A quick good bye and I'm on another bus.  My novel tells of the soulful lament for a beloved bard and prince: a beautiful, horribly wailing that fill the ears of the reader without hearing a thing.  With the final words of the story tears shoot once more to my eyes.  I feel my face like ice, struggling to crack.  Yet again, not here, not now.  I close my eyes and sleep to block all emotion.

Awake once more, I climb onto my final bus.  People climb aboard in large groups, all taking interest into one another's day.  I am alone.  No one asks about my day.  My chin quivers and I feel as though I could shatter into hysterics.  No.  Not here, not now.  I force myself to focus on the sounds of Les Miserables pouring through my head phones.

Finally, I walk home.  I am virtually alone, with only the rushing cars to keep me company, yet I still hold back.  The tiniest moan escapes my lips.  Still-the tears do not fall.

Just as I decide to give in, it is over; the tears are not there.  Just an Grandma shaped emptiness, longing to be filled.  My heart yearns for the special love that only she can give to fill the void, but I am left with only a failing taste of the joy I could have.

I need to bake cookies.  Perhaps they-the food for sad souls-will sooth my hurting heart.  I bake and eat to no avail.  The hole remains, the hurt persists, the tears still linger just under the surface.

Something needs to change.  If only I knew what, when, and how.

Jesus, help me please.

Hole in my Heart

My Grandma passed away today. 

The past few days my entire family has been staying at her house, helping my Grandpa take care of her.  I've spent most of my time sitting on the stool next to her hospital bed, or across the living room reading a book in the recliner. A lot of the time she simpy laid in bed with her eyes closed, and was usually asleep. Sometimes, I would hear her praying.  I would sit next to her, perhaps holding her frail hand, and pray too.

When she lay in bed yesterday we had one of her favorite worship CDs playing.  With her weak, air-hungry breaths she sang to Jesus:  "I exalt thee.  I exalt thee.  I exalt thee, ooh Lord!"  With my young, healthy lungs, I quietly sang with her. 

Even after she could barely scrape together a cognizant thought, she kept talking to Jesus, leaning on Jesus, begging Jesus to come.  She was tired and living between her doses of pain killer.  Every two hours we turned her from one side to another, to reduce pressure on the bed sores that already added to her discomfort.  Even when she was asleep the pain could be clearly seen on her face as we carefully turned her over.

We took shifts staying up with her at night, so Grandpa could get the optimum amount of sleep. My shift came between 3 am and 5 am. I laid on the floor next to her bed with my bible and notebook at hand.  I flipped through the Psalms, re-reading the underlined verses that had always brought me comfort.  "The Lord is with the broken hearted, he saves those who are crushed in Spirit."  Psalms 18 talks about God coming down in all of his fury to defend those he loves, before he teaches me to "bend a bow of bronze."  I spent a long time praying to Jesus, asking for peace for all of my family. 

At 5 am it came time to turn her again.  Grandpa came downstairs to help before his shift.  The previous evening, Grandma still looked pretty okay, considering what her body had been through.  She opened her eyes as we turned her. I looked into her face and knew she could not see me.  The end was very near.  With that thought, I climbed back into bed.

4 hours and twenty minutes later, I was woken up by my little sister, telling me that Grandma had stopped blinking.  Mom rushed upstairs shortly after, saying Grandma only had minutes left.  We came downstairs to witness her last breath.

 I sat next to her, looking at her previous face.  Just yesterday, I had watched her from the recliner, seeing her blue eyes sparkle when she smiled at me.  My Grandma was so beautiful. 

I miss her truly, deeply.  As I sat with her yesterday, I read "Heaven is so Real,"  the story of a boy named Colten who visited heaven during a surgery, and how he told his parent's about it afterwards.  He told them that the first person you see when you get to heaven is Jesus.  All I could think about this morning was how my Grandma was finally talking to Jesus, who she had been waiting to see for a very long time.  I know she is up there now, probably intermittently praying for us and worshiping her Lord. 

I miss her a lot.  She was very dear to me.  I'd appreciate prayers for my family as we work through this time. 

I'm so glad she is in heaven, free at last from her disease, but I am so sad to think I wont be able to see her smiling face until Jesus calls me home, which I imagine will be a long time from now.  There is definitely a hole in my heart.  Luckily, I know that, with time, Jesus will fill it up and make it stop hurting.  I must continue to try and lean on him.