Like a load of bricks

Himself and I didn’t go to evening services at church. He relished his day off…such as it was, and Sunday evening was generally the one time of the week he could turn off his brain and ignore work, and just…relax. Going somewhere didn’t figure into that and I didn’t push it.

I’ve started going to evening services, instead of the morning one, because Himself never was there and I don’t associate his presence…or the lack of it…with that time. The crowd is much smaller and the order of service is a little bit different and I thought perhaps I wouldn’t miss him as much.

That’s what I get for thinking.

Tonight 2 of the boys went with me and I am thankful for that. About 1/3 the way through, during singing the second hymn, I felt like simultaneously passing out and throwing up. The whole 9 yards, watery legs, cold sweats, light headedness…thank goodness for The Widow Excuse, you can get away with sitting down mid-way through the second hymn and people just think “poor dear” instead of muttering “heathen”…or whatever it is they do.

The sermon was something about missions and I tried, really hard, to follow it. He was very passionate about what he said and I could tell he knew what he was talking about but all I could think of was Himself not being there, what he looked like with all those tubes and what he looked like after they cleaned him up and let us come in.

We always held hands in church. I am not sure why but I can’t remember a time, in 28-1/2 years, when we didn’t hold hands during the service. The times I took notes, he had his hand on my knee, and during prayers he either had his arm around me or held my hand in both of his.

I guess it just felt really strange to have both of my hands and no one to hold one of them. I could have held one of the boys hands, or even both boys, but it isn’t the same.

They miss their dad as much as I miss my husband. It’s easy to get wrapped up in my own sorrows and forget that.

I’ve said before that evenings are the hardest time for me. Even right now, just sitting here with a cat in my lap there are tears rolling down my face and it’s a little hard to breathe.

So maybe evening services aren’t the best idea right now? I don’t know. Maybe they are. Maybe I should just keep plowing ahead until the load lightens or some other analogy that escapes at the moment. Maybe morning services would work better. Eventually I’ll do both. i know I will.

But for now, I wonder when I can go more than 30 minutes without the load of bricks dropping on my head and knocking me down. Because it hurts and I am tired of hurting.

And really, it’s only just beginning. Dear Lord, give me strength, because I can’t do this on my own. Thank You that I don’t have to.


About rootietoot

I do what I can.
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One Response to Like a load of bricks

  1. Judy says:

    I cried just about every Sunday morning in church for the first six months. Missing Fred’s voice, feeling his arm around my shoulder’s during the sermon. No one to help me hold the hymnal. So–I started going to the same denomination church, but in another nearby town. No one knew me, which I liked. I’ve been going for 3 years and still try to stay incognito.

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