boiling over

It shouldn't be like this.

There are a lot of people in the world that go through some crazy, unfair, terrible, horrible, unspeakable awful. But I'm tired of our unfair. I long for our nice-but-crazy, wonderful-but-far-from-perfect, loving-but-push-each-others-buttons, great, awesome family to be back to our "normal." (Normal is a relative term when you're a Robinson.)

How do the Chenoweth's do this? How do people get through this? I thought we were close and I thought our family shared their pain when Jay died and I thought we were there for them, but... now I wonder. It is very different when your Dad's BFF dies than when your Dad dies. It's easy to sympathize with them, cry with them, and then go home to your house and lay on the foot of your parents' bed and talk to your Dad about baseball or boys or politics or how to solve the world's problems or make fun of your mom.

I know a lot of people who have known loss and hardship and heartache. My family has experienced some, but this - one of our four is gone. Forever. (Now, thankfully there are two more, without whom we'd be much more lost.)

Sometimes, I have a nice attitude. Rarely, I'm truly angry about the accident and sudden death and the hell of a mess that was made. But today, well… Today, you've caught me in a different mood. Today, I am sick and tired of this mopey feeling I can't shake and I wish he'd come back and I really don't understand how my mom is supposed to live in a house without him and I am just. so. sick of it.

Someone at work who I had never met before asked me about my dad. It made me mad. He couldn't help it and honestly was trying to be nice, but at the same time, it was like I was a piece of gossip, like they were just filling the quiet with conversation.

On other days, I'm glad to talk about Dad and love that people look at his pictures in my office or tell me a story about their time with him. Today, though, I was on the verge of tears, this stranger asking questions so casually and seeming so unaware of how painful it must be to hear "so you're the one who's dad died right?" Yep. That's me. Bingo.

I fell asleep on the couch after work today, before dark, something I haven't done in a very long time. Drew got home earlier than usual, from a job site in Pearland, and at 5:30 he woke me up with a kiss. I had been in a deep sleep. Suddenly my eyes were watering, and before I knew it there were warm, wet tears running down my face.

For some reason, I woke up incredibly sad, missing my dad, dying for the chance to call him and just talk. I think maybe I was dreaming that he was here, real, and it just - it hurt. Physically. I know I'm blessed to have had him in my life 26 years and to have known someone so great and have so much of him in my personality, and I am thankful, but. Today I'm also, quite frankly, pissy.

It shouldn't be like this. My sweet, fun husband shouldn't have to wonder exactly why I'm crying or what triggered it. He shouldn't have to wipe my tears on a Wednesday afternoon because my heart is consistently broken but I keep it held in too long.

We live in a fallen world. It shouldn't be like this. God designed it to be something different, but he gave us free will, and so this whole world has mess and hurt as a result. God designed the garden of Eden, and we squandered it.

But God restores our souls; he is making all things new.  He is love.

I think God is okay with me being angry sometimes, as long as I don't do something rash with that anger.  As long as I acknowledge Him and that he wants to be here to lick my wounds.

I wonder if God feels like I did today at work, someone making something so serious seem so casual. I realized he must feel like the butt of a terrible joke a lot.

When we disrespect God's power, when we act like something else made the beautiful mountains and the rivers, when we are flippant about the almighty... I bet it feels a lot worse than I did today. Thankfully God is a lot more forgiving and wise and mature and graceful than little ol’ me. I just want to stomp my feet and throw a fit sometimes. This. isn't. fair. But thankfully, in the middle of my fit, I know people are still praying for us, taking care of us, and loving on us. 

And thankfully, just once in a while, God lets me throw a complete fit, a kicking-screaming-yelling, get it all out, buy a canoe, throw something against the wall kind of fit. And then we slowly feel better and calm down and return to the whole one-foot-in-front-of-the-other “but for the grace of god go I” mentality. 

But for today, I am feisty. Today, I want answers to questions I don't have. Today, I am rolling with the punches, and throwing a few myself.