for all the suffering suffering suffering

i accessed the place... the place some part of me was blocking, without my permission.
i know why now. the small pain grew and consumed and twisted my insides.
the lament, the groan of grief came up from my gut... for Gretchen,
for my dad, for all the suffering suffering suffering...
for the fear, the damnable fear: will this also be my fate?

i do not deny i am afraid. i do not trust God as i would like.
he did not rescue my dad. not Gretchen. so what choice did they have?

what choice did they have?

pain. suffering. hopelessness. a gun? some gas?

the bodies. the thought of their cold bodies.

the night when we saw my father's white jacket glowing in the distant grass of the darkened field.

the following day when they had all of him covered in a white sheet,
all of him but his cold, hardened hand.
it wasn't my father's hand. it was a stranger's.
my father's hands were large and open and warm. this knotty, clenched hand...
how could it be his?

who will find my body someday? if only i could disappear when the time comes,
which will not be any time soon, mind you... but i hate that a shell must be left behind.
if only we could dissipate into the air like our breath on a cold winter night.

i imagine Gretchen... when they found her. no longer dwelling in her tormented body.
her body. her remains, as they call it.

i know her despair. i know her despair, and i do not blame her.
why wait for doctors who will run tests and do procedures with no assurance that one thing they do will help her in the least? she knew how many doctors and medicines and tests and procedures i have had done...so many, many let downs. and i am still not whole! i am "managing", but each day is a task. i am a prisoner to this disabled body... and she is free. if anything, i somehow envy her.

but far more than envy, i mourn her 16 years of torment and her tragic end, and i ask God why he didn't come through for her?

the tormented can often grow bitter toward those who are whole in their bodies, those who are painless and complain and scream about the most trivial matters: a scratch on their car, an insult, always offended and always proud and judging others, criticizing others, having a damn absurd opinion about everything... and never ever ever suffering but for the occasional headache. they are about as shallow as a toilet. and they are everywhere, bombarding the sick and disabled with their perfect lives and bodies, their abilities to do things...like walk... taken for granted. and we who are suffering often envy them.. often despise them... especially when they invalidate our suffering..
tell us to "just pray" or give us scripture verses to "claim" as "God's promises".

i mourn this as well. the lost, shallow souls. the hurt they inflict.

i pray for help to love and forgive...

i pray for help...

i pray

and pray

and grieve before my God.