Sometimes I feel like I can’t.

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I’m so tired of this. I’m so tired of feeling this way, and of always thinking about Sean and things reminding me of him and trying to be aware of the process, and my feelings, and explaining how I feel to friends. Of thinking about and articulating how I feel. All. The. Time.

I cried on an airplane today. I cried in my kitchen, and eventually on a friend’s lap. I cried in the car when we passed the hospital where Sean died. Coming home from a week-long trip to LA hit me harder than I thought. I don’t want to be in San Francisco. Starting a new life sounds amazing… a life away from so many things about here, and be done with this slow painful heavy engulfing process. I still have so much love for Sean and in spite of that – or maybe even because of that- I’m more and more weighted down in this walk. So everything in me is screaming to turn around… to run from this city that I grew to love.

Tired.

And I so enjoyed being away from it, in LA. Being myself, out with people I love- not thinking about death, hospitals, or feelings. Bowling left-handed and nailing it. Singing loudly with the windows down. Not being required to fill in well-intended awkward silences. Warm sand. Good company of sincere, encouraging, funny, uplifting, quality people.

And then I hate that everything is magnified for me- everything is monumental. A change of scenery to see friends is huge to me. Coming home to an almost-empty house and paperwork about health insurance was a devastating reality. I have no emotional reservoir, and feelings run so deep. I get annoyed about people standing around me too long, or even just blocking the aisle at the grocery store. I hate this version of me. I feel out of control. I feel like I can’t be there for other people, because my emotional needs are overwhelming. I never wanted to be that person, and that’s hard for me. It’s hard to be vulnerable.

I’m tired.

6 thoughts on “Sometimes I feel like I can’t.

  1. There is nothing anyone can say. But I wanted you to know I read your blog and thought about you and was touched that you would let us in to your process. It will help other people going through their own processes, but knowing that doesn’t make yours any easier. Just wanted you to know you are being prayed for. And the process sucks. Reminds me of that kid’s book, “Going on a bear hunt”: “Can’t go around it, can’t go over it, gotta go through it.”

  2. it just sucks. there is absolutely nothing you can do but “go through this.” nothing. well. actually you could run away. it would feel so good. but somehow we know that this thing would eventually catch up with us. with you. because you chose Yeshua long ago, He will follow you wherever it is you would go until you “go through it” so you wait and walk each painful tiring step even if it is that you don’t succumb each day to this and join Sean in death. THAT is a victory. there are women who do die. it is THAT painful. please know I am praying for you. please know it really does suck. vomiting kind of sucks. I reading this morning in Mark (even the bible was painful for me) and Yeshua said this, “And going a little farther, he fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. And he said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible for you. Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what you will.” He FELL on the ground. and reminded God that all things are possible with Him and that He could stop this pain.
    But Sarah there is triumph. I promise you there is triumph. Remember when I told you at that Shahbbat Brunch that any and every thing you feel in this is ok and normal. There is no person you’re suppose to be right now but this one you are, in this. Please don’t be hard on yourself. Just be. It’s huge what happened to you, and it sucks and you can survive and the pressure will level out.
    You can do this.
    The week before Sean died I came to SF to help at headquarters. I ended up instead hanging out in your rooms, folding yours and Sean’s clothes, playing with your cats, and rushing AnnaMarie to the hospital because it was suddenly so bad. I tried working at headquarters some also but the news coming in was so horrid I went walking. When I walked I reminded God that He could do this saying, “You could have healed my husband, and You can heal Sarah’s husband. I know You can and You’re not.” Then I began to go to WHY, “WHY didn’t You, what aren’t You? WHY!!” The pain was excruciating. I had known Sean since he was 6 or 8, and as for me, I had been left with 3 daughters to raise alone. My God is doing this to Sarah, to Chris?? WHY.
    But I stopped. I wanted to continue full fledge running into “why” and demand it from God, feeling as if it would be relief from the pain. But I stopped. The anger and indignation for you and myself loomed to be worse then the pain of not knowing why and at the same time living in that pain. I literally stopped myself and on the sidewalk on the street behind your house and said, “OK. ok.”
    I have to say there are parts of me still in shock that the horrid pain that came to me has come to you and the Tranks. But, Sarah. I’m ok now. God has healed me and my girls. He has taught me he will take care when it hurts and you are tired and you don’t like anything. I promise He is faithful. I promise. If all you do is to take one step or even just stand (or lie down) that is victory. He is faithful to move you from this place, He is faithful. ily

  3. I’ve never lost anyone close to me. Your blogs are eye opening to the emotions that can come when losing someone you love. I pray that God bring you peace and healing, both mentally and deep in your heart. How I wish Sean would still be here today.

  4. Hi Sarah, the Lord put you on my heart this morning to pray for you, then I saw you had a new blog post. There are a few songs I can’t listen to anymore because they remind me of Sean, and I can’t imagine having that feeling in pretty much every aspect of life. Julia and I will be praying that you find a way to emotionally refuel, and that God will guide your next steps.

  5. You, dear Sarah, have been through a long and arduous season. Don’t be alarmed that you are tired. You would have need to be alarmed if you were not. Such is love and such is grief. G-d understands and knows completely how you feel. The wave of intense love-duty which kept your body vigilant is past; the backwash from the moment of relief has become a time to realize the cost and the loss… and your body needs time to rest–go slower, early nights to bed–to tend to its own needs inside… find a book that is encouraging to read for the sleepless times at night… time to nurse your own precious life to a place of healing… The wake of paper which sits like a bully on your desk is not an emergency… there is grace… breathe it in… no more alarms… no need to explain, but hearts all around you willing to listen whenever a sorrow or a joy won’t keep silent… tears won’t drive us away… numbness won’t drive us away… silence won’t alienate us, because we weep with you, even when words cannot be spoken… Sweet Sarah, don’t hate this time… don’t hate yourself in this time… just hold on to Messiah’s Hand and walk with Him in it… it will take time, but the lilies are in the valley… Song of Solomon 6.3

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