God is in the tremors. Dark is the holiest ground, the glory passing by. In the blackest, God is closest, at work, forging His perfect and right will. Though it is black and we can’t see and our world seems to be free-falling and we feel utterly alone, Christ is most present to us…” ― Ann Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts
You never know how fragile life is until someone you love dies. Nor do you know the real meaning of the word grief. The past 8 months have been the worst and the hardest of my life. I am fragile. That is hard to admit for a person like me, who is always expected to be strong. But I, my emotions, my heart, my everything, is fragile.
I have lost my mother, my sister, 3 nephews, my best friend, and for all practical purposes, my father. Also the relationship with the man I was crazy in love with, and due to the break up, his family. That is so much in 8 months (7 months if I take it from when mom died, not got sick).
I need to be where there are big shoulders and soft tissues. I need to fall asleep with strong arms holding me, letting me know it is going to be OK. Deep down yes, I know this, but I need to hear it now. Sometimes, human to human, you need to hear the spoken words of “It’s going to be OK.”
There is a difference between a need and a want. And after all the loss, I need comfort. I need comfort from my soul all the way to my toes and to the top of my head. Because I miss my mother, I miss my father, I miss my friend and I miss the relationship I had before all of this happened and I was so deliriously happy.
We all need comfort, compassion, empathy, love. We all need to be helped sometimes. Because it is in these of the darkest moments, that we are truly our most beautiful. Because we are intrinsically our most human. Our most vulnerable, our most hurt, our most…human.
So here I am. I am human. I am not very strong right now. I am flawed and imperfect. I hurt. I am not lovable. I am vulnerable. And I need. I need comfort and protection from the world right now. I need love, compassion and comfort.