It's Sunday morning and I should be focused in another direction. Perhaps that's why I'm writing, to get the sadness out of my system, at least temporarily. I don't know that I'll leave this post up.
On the surface, I have little reason to feel as dejected as I do. I am about to lead worship for a congregation that expresses its gratitude for my presence in countless ways. I have been the beneficiary of an endless stream of support and encouragement in the latest glitch in my life. My surviving children are doing extremely well.
It's suicide, I think. I'm not sure that even I can imagine a more profound and complete rejection than that of a child who takes his own life. Even though I am sure that he didn't mean to, in the sense that he had lost the capacity to comprehend what he was doing.
But lately I've been thinking a lot about our life as a family, which was pretty damn wonderful, and with each memory I think, "How could he have forgotten that? How could he have let that go? How could he have turned his back on that?"
And then I am reminded of how completely disoriented he must have been, which only makes me feel worse.
Among the consequences of Josh's death have been many other losses, many things I would have surely done and that our family would have shared, had life been otherwise. Opportunities in ministry that disappeared. The travel we had looked forward to, once the three kids and I were all released from our conflicting school schedules and and our finances were on an even keel again.
It's as if life as a whole rejected us and spit us out.
I've realized in the last few days that this sense of rejection is why breast cancer is, in fact, a big deal. Yes, a mastectomy and months of reconstruction procedures are pretty major: a big loss, week after week of pain and inconvenience, way too much time spent with medical professionals.
But overall, what it feels like is: rejection. I feel as if my body has rejected a rather significant part of myself. I feel as if God has rejected my body. Not good enough to stay basically healthy. Not good enough to remain intact.
It's really hard, some days.
Powerful post, Robin. If you don't leave it up, don't delete it either. Keep it available for your further meditation and study.
ReplyDeleteI hear you. And I resonate with it too. When something FEELS like rejection it takes on such massive proportions. I find feelings of rejection to be the most difficult to accept - that's when "acceptance" feels like I have to agree with it. Most times, I can remember that acceptance of something doesn't mean I agree with it. Feelings of rejection feed into something inside of me that seems to - in a very nasty way - shout YES! TOLD YOU!
I don't know if that happens for you. But it definitely happens to me, and I know I"m not alone in that.
So, like the Blue Christmas and so many of your other posts, writings and sharings - you are right on the mark. So, thank you.
I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry.
ReplyDeleteThird week. Isaiah 53:3 floated through my brain as I read this....
ReplyDelete{{{Robin}}}
Robin, I feel there's little I could say that hasn't been said better and by people who are much closer to you. Yet, I want you to know that you are not alone. Those who love you, known and unknown, enfold and lift you- in the hope of light reaching you and you feeling its warmth. The insights you have and share are profound, but certainly are not worth the pain through which they are born. I pray for your joyful memories to be solidified in your mind and for a mantle of acceptance to move around you, like an invisibility cloak- shielding you from further rejection.
ReplyDeleteSending you love....
ReplyDeleteRobin, I am also a mom of a son who died by suicide. He was 21 years old. He died six years, seven months, twelve days ago. Each and every day I battle the feeling of rejection. He loved us, I know. We loved him, he knew that too. Life was just too much for him at that moment. I know he wasn't rejecting us but sometimes it sure feels that way. I read your posts every day and I'm sending you as much strength as I can to help you hold on to the happy memories and pictures of your beautiful son.
ReplyDelete(((Robin))) My heart breaks with and for you.
ReplyDeleteRobin, I wish there was something profound/helpful that I could say to help comfort you. Your words and insights are so very meaningful & touching--keep writing and expressing yourself. And know that you are surrounded by many people who care for you. ~Mary Hill
ReplyDeleteOh, Robin, I was thinking about you today, imagining that there are still times when the horror of Josh's death still had to just knock the breath out of you. I just read "Kayak Morning" by Roger Rosenblatt, his second book after his daughter died unexpectedly about 3 years ago. The review in the NYT says this: "He tells a doctor friend that writing “Making Toast” was a kind of therapy, a way of keeping Amy alive, but that after he had finished, it was as if she had died again. “Grief comes to you all at once, so you think it will be over all at once,” the friend tells him. “But it is your guest for a lifetime.” I was thinking about that for you and then saw this post. I am so sorry. ((()))
ReplyDeleteSending love. Thank you for continuing to tell the truth.
ReplyDeleteCindy, I'm not exactly sure what you're saying, but I do know that when people insist that I accept negative stuff (as if we have a choice), they mean that I should somehow think that it's ok.
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, Michelle, the same words wafted through my mind, though they felt a bit presumptuous.
ReplyDeleteRoberta, I'm so glad you commented. My deepest condolences to you and your family. And Rosa, your quote is so true. By now, there is little I can say outside of this blog and a few close friendships; people expect you to have moved on and do not know that this is, indeed, a lifetime of re-learning to live.
ReplyDeleteAnd the rest of you, thank you very much. And Mary, I haven't forgotten breakfast! I am hoping that this week will be the last PS appointment and that will free up some considerable time each week.
ReplyDeleteOh, and for those of you sending emails because you "can't get in to Blogger" -- I don't think anyone knows the wheres and whyfores of that erratic problem. I have found that I can almost always sign in as Anonymous when Blogger refuses me entry as myself -- then the challenge is remembering to sign my name to the comment!
ReplyDeleteRobin, thank you for posting your thoughts as you experience life - life that is so very painful at times, it hurts your innermost core that can be so difficult to articulate. You seem to be able to put it in the written word. Praying for you.
ReplyDeleteDear Robin - there's no part of the acceptance in my practice that includes thinking it is ok. It is a hard thing to talk about, like breathing and believing and things like that. I see it in all you do, and in all that you write.
ReplyDeleteI think what I was saying is that feeling rejected stirs up two seemingly different strands of resistance in me: one is an inner feeling of "of course I'm rejected because I'm unloveable and unworthy" and the other is a resistance based on a feeling of 'no, no anything but that' ... which feeds into an illusion that I have some kind of control.
I guess I was saying that "rejection" from others can be much more quickly internalized in me because I have such a long relationship with it. So when I feel it from some place or some person it often gets much bigger much quicker.
Sorry to be confusing.
Cindy, that makes complete sense.
ReplyDelete