"I don't think I'd be able to get up in the morning."
"I don't know how you do it."
"You're so much stronger than me."
I've heard a lot of things since Logan died, including the remarks listed above. I usually just smile and nod and shrug. What else am I supposed to do? They are, after all, perfectly acceptable responses to a difficult situation. But here's what I'd say if I felt free --truly, really, fully free-- to be honest.
No, you can't imagine. And you don't want to because it's horrific. And you know it's horrific. And since the human heart --and mind-- protect you from horror, you actually --physically-- cannot imagine it. And that's okay, because I don't want that for you.
Yes, you would, because you'd have to. Because you have other kids and a husband who need care. Because you can't quit life when something horrible happens to you. So yeah, you'd get up. And some days, you'd smile and genuinely feel happy. Other days, you'd smile and fake it even when you were falling apart inside. And after enough time passed, your friends wouldn't even be able to tell when you're really smiling and when you're merely eking, slogging through the day, your sights set on a good, cathartic cry by yourself at home. But yeah, you'd do it. Because it's what you'd have to do.
Me neither. But I'm pretty sure Jesus has a lot to do with it. I am not strong enough to withstand it on my own. I am not a superhero. It's okay if you think I am, but I promise you that I'm just a regular woman with regular temptations and loves and victories and failures.
Not really. It just looks like it because I keep getting up and I keep taking the other kids to school and smiling, even on the days when my heart is breaking all over again. If you were me, you'd do the same.
So yeah. I don't like oversimplification any more than the next perfectionist, but in a nutshell, that's what it's like.