Trust is a delicate thing especially in the dark, when things are uncertain and unsettled and you are tired. As the third day gave way to the fourth, I was tired in every way. I was sleeping now, but not deeply. Throughout the four or five hours that I did sleep, I woke often, enough to know I was awake, and then quickly drifted back to sleep. I only really knew that I was sleeping because I kept waking up. I didn’t really have the strength to pray or even think too clearly. God knew what I wanted. With each passing hour, it became more and more apparent that I would not get what I wanted. Trust for me was hardest in these times, when it felt like she definitely was not going to make it. With what little focus I did have, I prayed and read scripture. My motivation was her life. Looking back, His motivation was mine. I dwelt in a place with God I had never experienced before. I began to feel him with me in each moment, in my weakness, in my loneliness. Constant thoughts that were higher and stronger than my own continually sprouted within me and rooted deeply within my heart. I found a place in my heart safe from the violence of death settling. In that place, God was different. I wasn’t searching for him anymore. He was pursuing me and finding me. In every sink hole that collapsed underneath my feet, I felt God present.
I was nodding and smiling a lot in conversation with others. I wasn’t really too tied into those conversations. It is not that I didn’t want to be, I just couldn’t think for longer than a few minutes before I was in and out of the conversation. Mostly, people were just talking to me, and I was drifting in and out. Many wanted to offer sympathy, not the kind that resigns to death, at least that’s not how they wanted it to come across, but the kind that is genuinely sorry that I was in the circumstance I was in. The same friends and loved ones were continuing to speak of recovery and the great possibility of healing. They prayed and I prayed, really prayed, but ultimately, time would tell what would come of it all. Despite what happened in the courtyard the day before and the growing peace and grace finding me, I waffled back and forth between happy ending and well, something else. Deep down in my heart, I knew that the thought that found me in courtyard was true. It was still hard to just resign to it. I don’t think I was supposed to either. While it was still day and my wife was still alive, I would defy any thought hinting at stealing her away from me, no matter where that thought came from. But still, I knew. And even still, I would fight and hope unrelentingly until I could not anymore. That felt right. It wasn’t just about seeing a real decline in her already weak and fragile condition. I just knew. You would think that in a situation like this, when everything smells of defeat and loss only seems certain, that pessimism would be shaping my perspective, but it was more certain that pessimism or giving up. I knew that Marianne was dying. I believed in a God who has a history of giving life back in certain extreme instances. I had read about them and heard about them. I had prayed to God for this instance with my wife unjustly and unexpectedly dying to be extreme enough. “What about our daughters?!” That kept haunting my thoughts. Fighting, hoping, knowing and trusting...it was a messy tension in my heart and mind; one that I felt fully justified in fighting, more and more convinced that it would literally be to the death. Her death, my wife, my daughters’ mother, the one that I loved as completely as I knew how to.
The night of the fourth day came quickly and things were not promising at all. Her condition was so much worse. I hated that thought that found me in the courtyard. I hated that God was apparently only taking care of me through this. I wished her eyes would open just one more time so that I could at least say good bye properly. I wished she could see into my eyes and know that I fought so hard, that I didn’t give up, that I didn’t let go. She would know if she could just see my eyes. I know that it was more for me than her. I was left here. She was somewhere else where pain and sadness and darkness do not exist. She was fine. I knew that. I was not. I sort of knew that. That night was the loneliest night I ever lived through. Nothing was happening. I went to sleep in a room that the hospital staff was keeping open for me. I just sat there hoping things would be so different. I was not really thinking, just fading. I was exhausted.
That was a terrible day. The next would be the end.
I was nodding and smiling a lot in conversation with others. I wasn’t really too tied into those conversations. It is not that I didn’t want to be, I just couldn’t think for longer than a few minutes before I was in and out of the conversation. Mostly, people were just talking to me, and I was drifting in and out. Many wanted to offer sympathy, not the kind that resigns to death, at least that’s not how they wanted it to come across, but the kind that is genuinely sorry that I was in the circumstance I was in. The same friends and loved ones were continuing to speak of recovery and the great possibility of healing. They prayed and I prayed, really prayed, but ultimately, time would tell what would come of it all. Despite what happened in the courtyard the day before and the growing peace and grace finding me, I waffled back and forth between happy ending and well, something else. Deep down in my heart, I knew that the thought that found me in courtyard was true. It was still hard to just resign to it. I don’t think I was supposed to either. While it was still day and my wife was still alive, I would defy any thought hinting at stealing her away from me, no matter where that thought came from. But still, I knew. And even still, I would fight and hope unrelentingly until I could not anymore. That felt right. It wasn’t just about seeing a real decline in her already weak and fragile condition. I just knew. You would think that in a situation like this, when everything smells of defeat and loss only seems certain, that pessimism would be shaping my perspective, but it was more certain that pessimism or giving up. I knew that Marianne was dying. I believed in a God who has a history of giving life back in certain extreme instances. I had read about them and heard about them. I had prayed to God for this instance with my wife unjustly and unexpectedly dying to be extreme enough. “What about our daughters?!” That kept haunting my thoughts. Fighting, hoping, knowing and trusting...it was a messy tension in my heart and mind; one that I felt fully justified in fighting, more and more convinced that it would literally be to the death. Her death, my wife, my daughters’ mother, the one that I loved as completely as I knew how to.
The night of the fourth day came quickly and things were not promising at all. Her condition was so much worse. I hated that thought that found me in the courtyard. I hated that God was apparently only taking care of me through this. I wished her eyes would open just one more time so that I could at least say good bye properly. I wished she could see into my eyes and know that I fought so hard, that I didn’t give up, that I didn’t let go. She would know if she could just see my eyes. I know that it was more for me than her. I was left here. She was somewhere else where pain and sadness and darkness do not exist. She was fine. I knew that. I was not. I sort of knew that. That night was the loneliest night I ever lived through. Nothing was happening. I went to sleep in a room that the hospital staff was keeping open for me. I just sat there hoping things would be so different. I was not really thinking, just fading. I was exhausted.
That was a terrible day. The next would be the end.
Your posts are moving.
A year ago.....
Yesterday......
Tomorrow......
A year from now....
We are with ya'll Bro.
Brody
Brody, you're a giant of a friend. It's meant so much to us. It's been a friendship that has helped keep me. So deeply, thank you.
God is bringing you such healing through your rawness and openess... love ya Brother
Shawn: love ya like a brother...a real one:)
Guy, We're standing in the gap for you tonight. Anniversaries are tough, I know. You & the Girls have been ever present on my heart these past few days.
Love you Delcambres!!
Thanks, Lindsay! Always so encouraging!!