Wednesday, June 27, 2012

letting go

Last night I dreamed of Matt. The first time I've done this since he died. Which, if you think about it, is strange. I mean - given my waking thoughts are filled with the weight of his absence, it's to be expected that my sleeping thoughts would have room to reflect this.

Maybe my brain has been allowing me respite. Time off at night in order to better handle the days.

This break away has been good. Time off at distance in order to better handle the reality of home, when I get back in the next few days.

I had a wonderfully kind email today, and replying brought out the tears again. They aren't far away. But I am reminded of that verse from that other dream I recorded a couple of posts back - because of the Lord's compassion, we aren't consumed. As I used to hold Matt's beautiful paw, my hand is being held by One who loves me. Words I spoke over my beloved are being spoken over me - I am loved, and I am safe.

It's hard to think forwards. To think of doing things, and of Matt not being there, of Matt not knowing, of Matt not seeing. Even something ridiculous like buying a shirt - I think, he wouldn't know it. I guess it doesn't matter.

I guess it reflects the depth of his presence in my heart. And I begin to realise I need to let go a little of my boy who has already gone.

My sister has pets, two cats and a dog. I can barely touch them. They are lovely creatures. I can barely touch them. One of the cats will only respond to Gill, only be with her, only trust her. There is something in its character I recognise from my Matt who so stuck by me. I can barely look at these animals. I need to get past this.

And yet -

And yet some things are getting better. I am now able to look more at my photos of Matt. I am able more to tell stories of who he was and what he did. These blog posts reflect the selfish side of grief, the way it impacts me, and that's less than half the tale.

Because my life is better for Matt. Better for his presence. Better for his love. Better for his remarkable ways. Better for the way he pushed me put of myself. Better for the care of another I had to take. Better for the care I received. Better for the friendship and companionship and laughter.

My life is better because being with my dog would teach me so much - about myself, my reactions, my thought processes, and my relationship with God. We sat and went through pretty much everything together. He put up with I don't know how many bum notes as I sang new songs & first drafts of roughly preached sermons. He put up with my mood swings - my deep darknesses and my whoops of joy.

And still I am learning.

Learning the depth of love. The value of sorrow. The presence of Jesus and how to access it and fail to notice it during these days.

Learning slowly also to trust God with what happens now. What happens to Matt. What happens to me. And to be grateful anyway. I have quite someways to go on this. But I am learning.

It's hard to think forwards because my life with Matt is in the past. I want to hold on to everything I know. But if I want to live, and if I actually want to live a life that suggests I trust God, then I have to let go of what I know and choose to have faith. Faith in the promises of the One who is faithful every new day. I have to let Matt rest in His arms, and not keep on trying to wrestle him back into my arms. I so want him back. There is a time for profundity and a time for cliche: now, I have to let go and let God.

For Matt. For me. For what lies ahead. For the sake of what is past and always letting that be a blessing and never letting it become a burden.

Because letting go is loving too.

1 comment:

KWRegan said...

From Oswald Chambers for today, July 13:

"Over and over again God has to remove our friends in order to bring Himself in their place, and that is where we faint and fail and get discouraged. Take it personally: In the year that the one who stood to me for all that God was, died---I gave up everything? I became ill? I got disheartened? or---I saw the Lord?"

Our dog put her head in my lap in the middle of this and prevented me from even one-finger typing it. Probably because I (and Debbie) just came back from a Chinese dinner. Sorry---and peace.