Tammy McClelland

This past Monday marked four weeks since Travis passed away.  On one hand it does not seem possible and yet on the other hand it seems much longer.  I have struggled to journal, struggled to blog.  Not because I do not have anything to say but because I have too much and it is hard to sort through.

We are struggling and yet in many ways, still in shock.  While watching a movie last week, I had this thought/feeling come upon me that Travis was going to walk in the door any minute.  In talking to the children, they seem to experience the same kind of things.  I still have to remind myself at times that he is not just off with friends for the weekend or at some event.  To some extent that shock did not just begin now, it began last October.  While 10 months seemed like a long time to us while we were living in the middle of it, it was really quick in the scheme of time.  I do not think we ever even really came to a place of acceptance in the 10 months, we struggled to stay ahead of the diagnosis and the reality.  In that sense, most of the counselors have commented to us that because of that fact, reality and acceptance may take a lot longer for us. That seems true to me at this point.

There are moments when we feel the absolute rawness of our hearts and emotions.  We feel even small things so much deeper because our hearts are just so bare and laid open.  Things that brought me comfort and solace before Travis’ diagnosis hold nothing for me know.  I struggle to find something to give me relief from the pain at times.  I have never been in that place before.  It is very unnerving on many levels.  Most often I reach a place where I just have to shut down or compartmentalize my pain to get something accomplished.  I realize that it may not always be this way but it is what gets me through the days now.

Just as “struggle” seems to define our days right now, it holds true for us with God as well.  The other day, a melt down happened with the children over a bag of popcorn (no emotional margin for any of us right now) and resulted in an episode of tears and words from their hearts.  ”It feels like God hates us.  Why did He have to take our dad?”  I have no words.  No one does.  We just hold each other and cry.  I think that this is just as much childlike faith as anything else is.  Does not faith require not only a belief in what we know to be truth but also in the face of circumstances that make it hard to believe?  Faith requires a level of honesty before a God who expects nothing less from us.  We know in our heads He does not hate us but in our hearts it feels true for now.

God has not seemed to show up in the way we thought He would.  Not only in terms of healing and miracles but in terms of His presence, comfort, answers.  I read the following last week in the book Shattered Dreams, “If you are seeking God in the middle of shattered dreams, if you’ve become aware of your desire for Him but are having trouble finding Him, be encouraged that it bothers you.”  It does bother us.  Our heads know the truth but the our hearts have yet to feel or see His movement on our behalf.  Not to say that He is not moving, He probably is.  We just emotionally are not aware of His movement.

Early on in this journey, I had a friend, who has suffered her own deep personal loss, make the following statement to me.  ”There are no words that I can offer you that will make any difference.  All I know is this.  God will hold onto you until you come to a place where you can hold onto Him again.”  That phrase has become my life preserver in the midst of an emotionally turbulent sea.  That is what I am holding on to for now, knowing that it is true.