The days after Storm's suicide are, in my mind, awash with anguish and a dream like sort of haziness. It was also a time of great spiritual and mental awakening and growth for me, as in many ways, an old me had died, and a new me was born.
My life was also plunged into a state of chaos and insanity that I could never have imagined. I knew right away that I had to move out of the duplex we had rented for the past six years. I had never liked the place, and had not wanted to move there. This was one of the few sticking points that Storm and I never really navigated, though we mostly avoided arguing about it. No sense fighting over spilled milk.
We had to move out of the house for three days to clean up after Storm, and my landlord, my slumlord, "moved" my things. That is to say, he shoved them all into my daughters room and the kitchen, barely cleaned up the floor, then laid down the worst replacement floor I have ever seen in my life. From the first night back, I was trying to gain control of the chaos and craziness that is my life, but it seemed like there was no end to it. Sweeping up glass and finding broken items, missing items, and our short lifetime together piled up in boxes and shoved into chaotic craziness took days, then weeks.
I immediately started packing to move. I didn't have a place to go, but I knew I wasn't staying there, whatever the cost. For months we lived in a semi-life state of half moved, half not moved, trying to find things on the go. Boxes filled corners and spaces, and unwanted items slowly trickled out the door. Yet, it seemed there was no end to the sorting, organizing, boxing, and packing. It was a strange, moving-out sort of limbo.
Then I found my house. She looked ugly on the outside...and kinda ugly on the inside. However, she wasn't moldy, or rotted, or falling down. The electric and water worked, and a number of updates had been made. Most importantly, as soon as I closed the door to the outside world, the silence enveloped me and I felt at home. I think in that moment, the healing began.
We have since moved in, and we now live in a semi-moved-in state of limbo. It's very similar to the moving-out state of limbo from before, with a few exceptions. Most of my things are in the garage or the storage room, and I am unable to move fully into my bedroom. Paint supplies occupy the space under the living room table. The walls are painted, mostly, and it's almost time to move back out (yes, BACK OUT) to refinish the floors. Finally, I will then be able to move in. My bed is still on a box spring on the floor, and my bathroom is still not remodeled. I don't have baseboards, and there is STILL painting to be done.
I've come to see this little home, my tiny House of Treasure, as a metaphor for my life and what's happening inside of me. Emotionally, I was completely broken at the beginning, barely able to feed myself and shop for groceries. My heart, my brain and my spirit were broken. The half moved-out, chaotic state of my old home reflected the state of my heart and mind, and this new, half-moved in home reflects the current state of my heart. I don't have all my paint on, and my baseboards are missing, and the floors are a wreck inside of here. I can't put anything away, because I have no place to put it, and I cannot put anything new in here, because it will just have to be rearranged to work on something else.
However, like my home, the foundation is strong. I have great faith, and I have seen the hand of Yah open up for this new widow over and over again. My body is strong and disease free, and I am surrounded by the people who want to help, and who try to give to me. The same as my home is improving, I see improvements in myself. I see myself standing up, saying no to what I don't want, content to be by myself. I see myself choosing these colors, and styles, and furniture, and it's not so overwhelming anymore, and inside of me, I am choosing who I want to be, and what life I want to live. I see the the vision of my home that is in my head coming to life in the reality around me, and I feel blessed that I am able to live in a space so uniquely mine. I am beginning to love being in my home, and I am beginning to love the woman that is emerging from the cocoon of pain.
I am very forgiving of my poor little home, and it's half-finished state, and I have learned to be more forgiving of me, and my broken, angry spirit. Today I will finish the last remaining interior paint projects on my initial list. It took almost five months, but like my healing, my house doesn't always happen on my timeline. We will box up the paint supplies and move them into storage, and I will smile and praise Yahweh that I am able to do so, for the first time since I've lived in my home.
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| The final bit of painting - done! |
I also realize how very far I still have to go. The floors need refinishing, then the baseboards, then the electronics installed, and then finally some furniture, and etc, etc, etc. In fact, the list is so long, I can barely wrap my brain around it. The inside of me is the same. I want to love and be loved again, but that feels like something distant and unreal. I am happy loving me for a minute, and embracing the silence that I have craved in my head and in my life. After last week, I have a spark of hope that I might be able to love again, but I leave it in Yah's hands if that spark of hope ever becomes a flame. When I look at all of the healing that must be done, all of the brokenness that is still inside of me, it seems like a very long way to go before I am complete enough in my spirit to contribute anything worthwhile to anyone else. I will leave that part to Yahweh, and trust him. His faithfulness (truth) endures forever.
The difference in my home is noticeable. The rooms, once empty and ugly, are bright and full of light and color. It's almost time for pictures to be hung and for furniture to come in and for life to begin in my home. My plants will love the front windows, and my heart will love having all of my plants greening up my house.
The same is true inside of me. One often hears the term "suicide survivor" to describe someone who lost someone they loved to suicide. I think it's an apt term. These past several months, surviving is really what I've been doing. Getting up and moving, even when the moving hurts. Eating because I have to, sleeping because I can't not. This week, something changed. This week I realized I am not just letting life happen to me. This week I realize I am participating in my life. I am actively engaged in what's happening, and I am actually excited to be a part of it. It no longer feels like something I have to do, something that will never be complete, but something that I WANT to do, and something I WANT to see completed.
I find myself living again, instead of just surviving. It's good to know that healing really is possible. It's good that Yahweh sees me, hears my prayers, and helps me. I see a light here at the end of the tunnel, and it looks like life and love.
Shalom.
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