So, I bought this new lamp. I love it. It is green with a crackly glaze. It has a simple white shade. I saw it and immediately knew where I would put it: on the new end table I recently bought. I thought it would do a lot for my boring and under-decorated living room. It may have been the missing piece.
I found this book in the clearance books at church on Sunday. It is a story about a woman who was date raped and her journey back to feeling like a human again. It is really good. Anyway, she was talking about pain and anger and how those are real feelings that everyone needs to go through and feel and sit in and hate and wait for Jesus to rescue us out of there. It is dirty and smelly and it can be a long time there, but when you go through that, one day you see that He was sitting there with you all of the time. Crying when you were crying, scared when you were scared. Never alone in that place.
I'm not sure how much I have actually grieved over Ella. I went through the whole depression stage and I think that I thought about grief - I may have even knocked on its door, but I never went in. I think I would need a nanny for that. I would have to take a weeks vacation. I don't even get an hour to myself without children a day. How could I ever have a chance to grieve?
So, I bought this lamp and after I got it home, I realized it wasn't even a lamp. It was what I was hoping was the missing piece to my life and my sadness and my problems. But, it couldn't do that because it was just a lamp. A pretty lamp that was 50%, but still, just a lamp. No matter how perfect it looks on my perfect little table, I am no different, no better, no happier, no more emotionally stable at the end of the day.
I only cried at the hospital once while we were there. It was that point where every good parent cries: as their child is being carried off to the O.R. and they are being escorted to the waiting room to just wait. I waited till no one could see me but Nick and I cried hard - for about 8 seconds. I wanted to make sure I stopped before my Mom saw me or anyone else who might make me let go. I made sure I didn't cry again during our stay - at this point, if they started, they might not stop. So, I make them stop before they start and again go on through my days, never feeling or hurting or stopping or grieving - with a green lamp that sits on a table and does nothing more than turn on and off.
