It’s mostly true, the things they say about losing a child. The sun really does rise each day in derision- almost as if we don’t make sense together anymore. I used to wake filled with providence. At one with both God and Nature. Contented in myself, my son, my life.
Since Ethan’s passing, I have to remind myself to breathe- almost to remind my heart to beat- and all this, before I even get out of bed. Rising, has become a daunting list of inconsequential motions. Another painful trial I have to make it through. A searing gateway to sorrow.
Each night I pray through gritted teeth, to the same God that saw fit to take my son from me. To leave me here alone. With only too few tender memories. I search my soul for the power to hate him. This god. This callous destroyer of his own creation.
Yet how can I curse the very God that blessed me with even the few short years I did have with my son? The same God that continues to make the sun rise, despite how painful it has become? I cannot. But today, I can allow myself to be angry.
This piece is written in 50 word increments, and is my response to the literary quote offered this week by Kristian on 50 word Thursday, “I have to remind myself to breathe – almost to remind my heart to beat!” – from Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte.
I also included the three phrasal prompts provided by tnkerr on the OLWG #39 where the prompts were:
- It’s mostly true
- we don’t make sense together