Here they are. My first words since…since I found out that half my family died. They won’t be making it to Anchorage, or anywhere else. The words are not flowing. Disbelief and blinking and shaking of my head. I’ll want to record it all, at some point, to remember. How will I ever forget?
Labor. Delivery. Waiting is over. Getting used to…? Learning how to…? walk my brand new story. Heart that won’t stop racing.
Eyes that are completely dry or completely wet.
An overwhelming sense that God’s got this and the glory is going to be amazing. The current reality that I don’t got this and really don’t want to have it. That I cannot do this one more minute. That surviving is the only option, but I don’t know how and I’m not sure I want to.
Talking to no one and getting calls from the press.
Anguish. Anguish. That word resonates. Deep all encompassing anguish…
And always my heart pounding, racing, as if it needs to leave my chest. It lives outside myself now. A large chunk of it torn away and sinking, sunk to the bottom of an icy lake.
Gratitude it was probably very fast.
Gruesome pictures that haunt.
Desire to walk well by faith.
Uncertainty what that means.
Excitement for the future.
Dread for each moment.
Wanting to shout their stories.
Wishing I could only whisper it to those who will hold it close and cherish it.
With me. My story. My beautiful, terrible story. My people. My life. My Savior’s life through me.
Death. How does one live after the dying?
So many rushing, gushing words.
Oh how I want Scott to hold me through this. To process and give me perspective. To weep with me and I can only weep for him and the hollow cavernous hole.
Raw, oh so raw.