Dreariness

Another Saturday. Another weekend with no plans, and nobody to share time with. The pervasive loneliness that I have heard about from so many other young widows is setting in, and the solitude of my life is getting oppressive. I get up every morning and most days, search for things to do to fill the empty hours. Some days, I lack the energy or desire to leave the house or accomplish much, and it is on those days that the loneliness reaches new heights. I know that I should force myself out of the house and into the company of other people, but I find the energy that it takes to 'act' normal is draining. Even when I'm around people who understand the tragedy of my life, I still hesitate to let the true depths of my despair show. In honestly, I am lower than I have ever been in my life. I feel a complete lack of emotion most days, and am unable to express much beyond a vague, restless anger. In my mind, I compare myself to a wild animal that has been mortally injured. I am restless, I snap at the slightest provocation, and I don't hesitate to hurt those around me, even when they are simply trying to help. In the beginning, I was told by somebody that I would reach a point that I would be angry with Ammon, and at the time, I scoffed. I thought, how could I be angry with the man that I loved so deeply? How could I blame him for a freak accident, even though it was one that took his life and his company from those who need him most? In recent days, rage has begun to emerge. Rage that is split nearly equally between my late husband, and my father in heaven. I know that it's not socially acceptable to be angry with God, but I am. I am enraged that he took my husband from me. I am enraged that he ignored my pleas for Ammon's survival. On that black Friday evening, I lifted my face to heaven and pled for my husband's life. I begged God not to let him die, and he ignored my pleas. I almost equally blame my husband. Why wouldn't he wear a helmet? I know that Jeremy and one of his friends were standing next to Ammon in the moments before he got onto his motorcycle, and they were playing with Ammon's helmet. The kids loved to put the helmet on their heads, and try to walk around with the large weight on their shoulders. How easy it would have been for Ammon to pluck the helmet from Jeremy's head and put it onto his own, but he didn't. He chose to ignore my admonitions of days past about helmet safety, and the result is responsible for my present reality. Because of the decision that Ammon made that evening, his children are going to grow up without a father, and there is a tiny part of me that hates Ammon for that. There is a part of me that feels red-hot, boiling rage that he so willingly sacrificed his life in such a careless manner.

I know that these emotions are unfair. In my more lucid, forgiving, Christ-like moments, I pray for acceptance. I pray for understanding, I pray for the strength to make it through this trial with grace and poise. I pray that I can raise my children up to both their Fathers, the one who sent his son to die for us, and the earthly father who is waiting for them in the eternities. Sometimes, though, I feel the rage. I feel the hopeless, omnipresent, oppressive loneliness, and the burden of raising these three children by myself presses down on me with relentless weight. Please, don't judge me for this post. I have struggled with whether or not to write about these emotions, knowing that there are many people in my day to day life that read this. Sometimes I feel as though I am the only one mourning Ammon. I know that his siblings, his parents, and his friends are simply trying to shield me from their pain, to avoid adding to my burden. I am appreciative of that thoughtfulness, but sometimes I feel as though I am the only one falling apart. I feel that I am the only person absolutely shattered by this loss, and it only adds to the sense of loneliness. Loneliness, burden, weight. These words have been repeated several times in this entry today, and they are the words the reverberate through my life.

I am so lonely for Ammon. I ache for the touch of his hands, the warmth in his eyes, and the comfort of his embrace. I hate him for leaving me here alone.