Blog Introduction

This blog is the story of how my husband and I faced the illness and death of two of our children. Each blog post is essentially a chapter in the story, so in order to truly understand it, you are going to benefit by starting at the beginning.
I hope you find our story touching, and in some way find comfort and hope through it as you face your own storms in life.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Finding a Place to Heal

I took my friend with me to tell Peter and Kristina I wasn't going back with them to Slovenia.  I needed the moral support.  I was so distraught over the conversations with Rob and my mother the previous day, I wasn't sure how anyone would respond to me anymore, and I was afraid.  When we got to their home, there really was little to say.  I simply shared that I needed to stay longer, and had changed my ticket to the farthest return date allowed; I believe it was another 4-6 weeks.  They said little. Both had seen how much I had been struggling, and if I could be helped here in the States, then it was what I needed to do.  I was trembling from the emotional overload I was feeling as we said our goodbyes. Trying hard not to cry, we at last parted company.  Inside, I wasn't sure I would see them again.  I may have had a return ticket, but it didn't mean much to me at that point in time.  I wasn't committing to anything.

My dear friend I had been staying with had been a most gracious and gentle hostess, but I needed to find somewhere else to stay for the remainder of my time home. It wouldn't be good for her young family to be continually exposed to the drama which seemed to be following me, and her children were too little to understand why I didn’t want to play with them and have fun.
I knew I needed help, but felt completely clueless as to obtaining it.  I could have picked up a phone and called a counselor or Psychologist, but I had limited funds.  It would also mean admitting that I couldn’t handle this "thing" on my own.  It would have meant admitting weakness and failure, and I couldn't do it. Part of me truly believed I could still get myself straightened back around, but honestly I was afraid if anyone knew my truest thoughts, they would lock me up. I needed to get out of town; somewhere where I could get help, but not under the eyes of people I knew and could randomly run into.  I needed a sanctuary; a place to recover in privacy. I needed to be with someone I trusted with my very life.

Fortunately, I had another friend who lived only two hours away.  Karen and her husband Tim were pastoring a church in a small town north of Grand Rapids.  We had connected with each other several times since I had come home, and she offered to have me stay with them.  I accepted.  I loved Karen and Tim; we had been friends for several years. They were "real" people who knew how to love others through thick and thin. Staying with them meant I would be in the company of someone who cared for me, but would not let me continue to believe the lies of the enemy.  They would begin to help me take back my life.  The problem was, I didn't know who I would be if I became "whole" again.  Somehow I feared I would be different and drastically changed. I feared the unknown, so even healing itself became something to approach with great caution.  The cave I was emotionally hiding in continued to be a place of safety for me, unrecognized as the tomb it truly represented.  Pulling me out of it would be impossible.  I had to willingly walk out of the cave into the light, but it would be no easy feat.  There were a lot of walls to knock down and a lot of lies to be disarmed, but within the safety of my friend's home, the battle would slowly begin.  Hope was in this place.

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