Missing.

I miss you.

I don't know where to go to tell you that, so I'll just write it here and hope that those three words will find you; and that you are happy and warm and pain-free and loved and comfortable and laughing and energetic and bouncing-off-the-walls-hyper and giggly and creating mischief and over-eating and dancing obnoxiously and making people smile and just plain being...yourself.

I'm sick in bed with the flu.

I'm remembering last year when I stayed home from school sick one day, and Micah came to visit me. He came into my room and plopped down at the side of my bed, and then with a little smirk pulled out a tub of Ben&Jerry's ice cream. I laughed and we sat there and ate it together. Surprisingly it worked, because I really did feel better after his little visit.

This morning in bed, I pretended that Micah was sitting next to me.
The fever still persisted, but I did feel a little better. (Maybe I should be eating some ice cream too?)

At least being sick has given me some time to relax and think...
I pulled out a book of poetry by Wendell Berry and paged through it for awhile...

-----
Some Sunday afternoon, it may be,
you are sitting under your porch roof,
looking down through the trees
to the river, watching the rain. The circles
made by the raindrops' striking
expand, intersect, dissolve,

and suddenly (for you are getting on
now, and much of your life is memory)
the hands of the dead, who have been here
with you, rest upon you tenderly
as the rain rests shining
upon the leaves. And you think then

(for thought will come) of the strangeness
of the thought of Heaven, for now
you have imagined yourself there,
remembering with longing
this happiness, this rain. Sometimes
here we are there, and there is no death.

-Wendell Berry

Seven.

I know our time together is no more.
Then why do words come to mind that call you back?
Why do I plan lifetimes that include you?


With you comes the pain that makes me long for solitude. But with solitude comes the loneliness that longs for you--I'm trapped here in this circle.

Strength?

I can't sleep. I've been laying in bed for hours and my mind is on Micah. Images are vivid in my mind and they won't go away...I'm nauseous and spinning.

"Becca, you are so strong." "You are so brave." "You just have so much strength."

Really? I hear this often but I don't see the truth. Because deep down I feel like a baby. I am weak and melting and hurting and shy. I know what it feels like to collapse onto a bathroom floor and yell at God. I know what it feels like to watch the sun rise after nothing but hours of nightmares and screams. I know what it feels like to be fragile and sensitive every second of the day, to everything in existence. I know pain and suffering and anger firsthand--am I really that "strong"?

I didn't ask to be in this situation. Does the mere fact that I have even been put in it create the illusion of strength? Does even "surviving" this far signify something to that effect? Maybe others just don't know what to say, and that's all they can sympathize with--that survival must mean strength exists somewhere?

I don't know. Sometimes I think I would better appreciate someone flat out telling me I am a weakling who has not one ounce of strength. Really? You think I'm weak? Thank you so so much, because truthfully, that's exactly how I've felt these past six months...how did you know?!

Grief is exhausting. I don't see how anyone is supposed to be strong all the time, anyway. I think it takes both weakness and strength to even get through one day--there's a perfect balance somewhere in there. Even one second can be a split between the two. One second, I'll think to myself, "Wow. I'm really sad and weak right now." So I'll validate that sadness and tell it that it can sit there for a little bit--because in reality, it really does deserve to be there. But then I'll close my eyes, gather a little strength deep down from the inside of my being (from God or maybe even Micah's love, I have yet to figure out where it comes from), and use that strength to ride out the weakness. Then it repeats, and repeats, and repeats; all day long--a daily cycle of waves of both sadness and happiness, weakness and strength.

So maybe I am a weakling of daily strengths.
And one day I might be a strength made of daily weaknesses...
But for now this is okay--and all I can do.

Now that my thoughts have escaped from this crazy brain of mine, maybe I can sleep. Love, and goodnight.