Chinks in my Armor

On the way home from work tonight I found myself suddenly very much missing my father and sobbing in the car. It was a strange moment because I realized I've been supressing a lot of grief and emotion in an effort to "be strong" for those around me. At home I have to be strong for the kids - so they don't feel the extra stress we're under; for my husband - so he feels supported and can concentrate his energy on healing; for me to be able to cope with all the extra duties expected of me to ensure our life proceeds apace. At work I have to be strong for our co-workers, because the Deac and I have mutual co-workers now and they need to feel affirmed that their IT guy is going to be back soon to support them. At church I have to be strong for the kids, for the Deac, and for the parishioners who don't really understand why their deacon hasn't served a liturgy since Pascha. There's no chance for me to NOT be strong, really.

At times this summer I've thought that's good - that not having a lot of time to process and dwell on my grief might make it easier to handle. But now I'm not so sure that I'm not just prolonging the inevitable.

And through this whole summer of desperation and difficulty, I've discovered something else about my life which disturbs me. I've realized I have no one in this world on whom I can rely to care about me. Very few people have offered us any tangible help. But, you see, it's not like there's a lot of tangible help to be offered - I'm not saying this to make anyone feel bad or feel like they need to suddenly offer help. In fact, it's prideful to think that anyone SHOULD care more about me than their own busy and stressful lives. I'm just saying that it's been eye-opening. In a way it feels like a crisis of faith. Only I still have faith - it's all I have left.

The truth is, I have always had a tendency to want to rely on other people for support and validation of my self-worth. But we're told: "Do not put your trust in princes, in mortal men, who cannot save" (Psalm 146:3). We're also told that experiences such as long-term illness are given to us by God to strengthen our faith and reliance on Him. I suppose that is happening, but not in the way I expected.

I thought I would be drawn more towards a pious experience of my faith - want to pray more, to spend more time at church, or reading the scriptures. Instead, I find I have no energy for that. I have no energy for anything "extra" beyond mere survival at this point. I don't feel any desire to reach out to anyone, including God. And I know that God understands that. I realized tonight that there is absolutely nothing I can do besides fall into God's arms and rest on His strength. It sounds trite to say that, and even I am not sure what it means in any practical sense. But emotionally, spritually, that is very much the sense I have.

Today I participated in about the umpteenth "diversity training" session of my career. It's a part of University life, I'm afraid, to re-learn how we should think about diversity every couple of years. And while I didn't get much out of the training itself that I didn't already know, there were a few stories that brought tears to my eyes. And I think that's what led to my breakdown in the car on the way home - I've been trying so hard to supress the grief and loneliness and sadness that tearing up when I heard others speak of their pain was the chink in my armor. Probably not a bad thing, except I'm still not in a "safe" place to express it - we still are not back to any semblance of "normal life." But harder than that for me has been realizing there is no one to share this with me. It's something I have to shoulder on my own - or, better yet, learn to share with God. When I learn to rely on God and God alone, I will truly have begun my journey to salvation.

I really need some time away - a retreat or something, maybe a week at our favorite women's monastery in California. But that will have to wait for quite a while until we've recovered a bit in a physical and material sense. In the meantime, I'm continuing to tread water.

P.S. Another "chink" in my emotional armor this week has come from thinking and praying about Lynette Hoppe, who is facing her last weeks on earth from metastatic breast cancer. She is an amazing woman. I can only hope to have an ounce of the pounds of faith she has when I near the end of my life. Read the last entry on her blog - and keep her in your prayers.