I needed, or I thought what I needed was a breather. A break from my everyday environment and responsibilities and distractions. A place and opportunity to just be. So, I booked a weekend away and went.
I spent the weekend alone. I had a fair amount of drive time and the rest I spent solo in my room. I jammed to some of my favorite fun music and I cried to some of my favorite sad music. I listened to podcasts and audiobooks. I read, I journaled, I mindlessly scrolled all the social media platforms and watched a football game on tv. I slept. I slept a lot. I ate good food, did yoga, stretched and got an awesome massage. I took hot showers, prayed and tried to just be. No expectations, just be.
It wasn’t anything I thought it would be. Well, I don’t know actually. I don’t even know what I thought it would be, or what I would achieve by going. Relief maybe? That I’d feel “better”. That I’d come home rejuvenated and excited about life?
I didn’t. I didn’t magically find a freeing sense of relief. I don’t feel “better” that I can tell, but I’m not sure that’s a fair thing to even try to define. I don’t feel rejuvenated (I’m exhausted) and I’m for sure not suddenly excited about life .
But I did come to some realizations. Number one, I can’t run away from this. I can’t wish it or pray it away. There’s only one way, and that’s through it. Moving through this and onward is the only way I’m gonna figure it out. And I don’t even know what figure it out means. No clue. I guess just how to get through tonight, and then tomorrow, and tomorrow night and the next and the next and the next. Nothing different than I’ve been doing. I guess my weekend just helped me realize that no matter where I go or what I do, this is just with me now. And by this, I mean, this reality. This part of my life that no matter how bad I want it to be different, it’s just not possible. This is it.
And number two: this is hard. It’s hard because Teagan is dead. That’s unexplainably hard. So hard. But what’s impossible for me to come to grips with or find any sort of peace in is the “how”. I hate saying it. I hate thinking it and I hate having to face the reality; that reality. The reality that Teagan is no longer on this earth because he ended his own life.
This is where my stomach ties up, my breath catches, my chest hurts and my head spins. I realized this weekend, that I have a lot of work to do to find some sort of peace- but peace isn’t the word, it’s not peace. I can’t find the right word, but something other than the stress and turmoil and hurt and panic I feel now. I don’t know yet what’s even possible in this area. I know I started to read about and study and I’m not quite ready. I’ll get there, but opening those subject matter specific books and podcasts this weekend were still too much. I’m not there yet. I also realized that’s totally ok. I’ll get there. Grace. Patience. Lots of patience with and for myself. As impossible as it feels in this moment, I do believe that healing will come for me. I believe it. I hope it. I expect it.
And where I’ve said before that I find any bit of hope through this, is hanging on for dear life to the hand that reaches for mine. This weekend was another reminder:
Hang on tight to the His hand, the one that reaches for mine. 🤍