Wednesday, December 5, 2012


I feel chaotically empty.

I want to write something beautiful and profound, more for my own comfort than anything else, but I don't have anything in me. I'm only writing because I wanted to write daily for as long as I can while this grief is present, but I am so very, very empty, and words mean so very, very little (and so much, when they come from others).
I want to say nice things. I want to talk about nice, heart-warming memories of my Grampie, like how he used to make cream of wheat with "all the fixings" (brown sugar and half-and-half) in the morning when we'd stay the night, how he'd hug us and rub his scratchy face on our little faces when he needed to shave, how he'd hand out the presents every Christmas Eve. But remembering is so hard right now, and it doesn't make any sense.
I don't know why it doesn't make sense, but it doesn't. It feels backward and inside-out and upside-down and weird. Nothing makes any sense right now.

Everything feels backward and inside-out and upside-down and weird.

 I don't feel like I have anything to feel. I don't feel numb. I don't feel shock. I don't feel angry. I don't feel sad. I don't feel relieved. I don't feel sorry.
But I do feel them. I feel all of them. I feel everything.
I feel tired, and I feel confused. I even feel embarrassed. I feel frustrated.

But mostly, I don't. Mostly, things just keep happening, and I just kind of happen with them.


  1. I can't speak for others, but I've feel like there is an incredible strength behind your words. Whenever you post, it feels like every word is handpicked, and I feel like it is more than getting a point across (though it does that as well); it ropes me in and helps me understand the feeling behind the writing.

    I guess reading this almost feels like a paradox. It makes me feel almost itching inside, wanting to express how truly amazing I find your writing, but feeling like I have no words to eloquently say it. So it doesn't feel beautiful or profound, but because the words have that impact on me, I consider it beautiful and profound.

    Anyway though, I hope that you are doing well. I've been praying for you and your family, and I will continue to do so. I love you, and you are so dear and close to God's heart.

  2. So often the mundane is the profound. In the times when emotion, family, friends or God seem so far away, often they are the closest. Not always, but often. One book I highly recommend that feels like this is One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovitch by Alexander Solzhenitsyn. The book was very profound.

    I identify with what you said that "things just keep happening, and I just kind of happen with them." So often I feel this way, like a stick in a river, happening, but like I'm watching everything happen like TV instead of interacting with reality. So in that way, at least in my mind, you have written the profound.