The Graduation

Posted on | June 6, 2010 | No Comments

as written May 16, 2008


We made it. Arrived at THE date. The finish line in my head that I’ve been clinging to; grasping so tightly that the rope burns on my hands haven’t even healed. The date when Brent would graduate from rehab. The day I’d counted down to until I learned to let go of counting. The day I knew our life would magically reappear, and my husband would be presented back to me on a shiny silver platter – healed of his pain and finally able to join me in our future and eternity. The illusive light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel was supposed to be today. Instead…

I feel more hurt than I have in a long time. Brent graduated last night from the Ranch. 60 days of inpatient treatment, and 90 days of outpatient. He made it. And it was beautiful and powerful, and I came away with a deeper pain and agony than ever before. Brent spoke, and professed his great love for the men there, for family that had come, then proceeded to talk about another woman the whole time. Kate. Got all choked up about her; tears, emotion, love. And the words that reverberate in his head of hers: “Pay attention to me.”

But not once did he ever mention me. His eyes never well up about me, the tears never come for me, love is never professed for or about me. My words from Kate for Brent came through me. The quiet whisper of the Spirit when I saw the commercial for the Ranch came through me. So many of God’s words for him came through me; the conduit, the gateway that let herself feel the agony so that God could speak through her.

He wants to get “Brotherhood” tattooed across his back, honoring his brothers. But won’t ever consider getting any kind of ink that celebrates me, our love, or OUR journey. Once again, I feel the biggest rejection of all. He wouldn’t even hug me, I hugged him. He was surrounded immediately by his brothers and left me standing there, like I am no part of anything worth celebrating.

Abba,

I feel like I’ve come in second to a girl that’s already passed away. How sad for a wife, sitting there, alive and loving, to feel less loved and noticed than a dead girl. My sisters Emily and Amber talked about how Brent is only starting to deal with his grief for Kate. So maybe he’s fantasizing about her, that maybe he should have married her instead. She’d understand, maybe he feels more her equal than mine. Her picture is out in his bedroom, not mine. Maybe he shouldn’t have married me at all, and then she’d still be alive. Brent saw her two days before she died, talked with her about how much he loved me, how happy he was to marry me, and how happy he was to see Kate and see how well she was doing. Two days later she took morphine and never woke up again. Was she numbing her feelings over Brent? Did she still hope for him? Did she still think they would be together? Did it make her so sad that she resorted to drugs after she had been clean for so long? It seems a little too coincidental not to had something to do with Brent. So the girls said he’s carrying a shame that’s fairly unbearable. But then so am I. To be so discarded, like something he used then threw away. He spoke of how in love he was with her. Never that he loved me. It made the women in the room uncomfortable, listening to him; they felt my anguish more palpably every word that he spoke. Thanks to his brothers, thanks to his family that shamed and ignored him, but never even once looked at me. His beloved. His Dove.

And so I come, Lord, to the mountain top to speak with you. To feel your breath in my face and the Son warm my skin. This kind of pain does not have a name, but crushes itself against you, severing flesh and vein, an entity without mercy. The Father of all Pain has come to sit with me a spell, and I cannot do it, Abba. I cannot. To sit in a room while your eternal companion proclaims love for another, after walking hand in hand through hell with you, is something that should not even exist. I feel melted and frozen from the inside out; ice sculpture with lava flowing beneath. I feel it has incinerated everything that was alive and slowly growing inside of me. I want to plunge beneath the surface and never emerge.

I never knew how much I needed touch. I am desolate without it; craving a man’s strength and tender hand. Emotional affairs happen as well as physical ones, Lord, and I am afraid I will not be able to help myself. Lord forgive me. I put this desperate pain, black and smoldering, on our beautiful altar. For I know thou canst make all things clean. Heal my pain, Abba. Please.

Your Lily

My sweet angel,

Borne of the waters and the waves, you have found the surface always. You have labored in my vineyard since the dawn. You understood my Light from the moment it hit your face. You often were the first at my feet to learn, and the last to leave. Many times have we spoken, your spirit unfolding and grasping truths someone so young does not. I loved watching your eyes get brighter and brighter, your frame dancing around me with joy and understanding. I miss you, my sweet Lily, and I see you there atop my mountain – I see your face and the tears that fall. I see the wind blow your hair and your shoulders sag beneath the huge weight of this new pain. I am here, my love, I have never gone far from you. You are sacred to me, and I forsake you not.

Your mortal body is inseparable to my Plan, strengthen her and by so doing you will relinquish the rest of the shame and stress it still carries within your blood and DNA. I need you to be ready. Strive for this, and it will allow your spirit even more control, and will open up the walls that still stand between us. It pains me, even the Great I Am, to see you suffer.

You are never alone. My most elite stand guard over you, some of my most valiant and sensitive: so that they can better FEEL you, thus be able to serve in their calling batter: to protect and minister to you.

I validate and acknowledge your deep anguish, my love, and am proud of you for allowing yourself to feel it. I WILL help you through it. But you are stronger than you know. Allow this acceptance to seep further into your soul and it will continue to elevate you closer to me (where the reception is clearer) [answering my joke about looking up at the higher peaks and asking if the reception to the heavens was clearer…] and enable you to continue to work in my vineyard. In the mean time; feel the awareness of the Earth, the Wind, all my creatures, feel the Earth surround you and rise up to protect you when necessary. She is aware of you, respect all my Creations. Respect the place where you find yourself in any given moment, and know that where you are is exactly where I want and need you to be. The process, the journey, is what I care most about.

The spiritual gifts you ask for (seeing, hearing) will be given in the due time of the Lord. Ask, and ye shall receive. Have patience, my Lily – it is a virtue you still need to strengthen (I feel Him smile).

I love you, I miss you in ways you cannot comprehend. Stay sweet…

Love,

Your Abba

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