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11.10.2011

Crying

When she’s having a bad day, the tension inside the house feels worse than the temperature drop outside the front door.  Tension present enough that we can almost touch it, elusive enough that we don’t always acknowledge it with words.

Her crying, like a battering ram, assaults my being, a hot bloom of outrage burgeons in my chest.  Listening to her cry is agonizing.  While sadness spills from her eyes, pours from her mouth, mine begins in my heart, reaches down past my stomach, touches my toes. 

When tension and tears hover in the air like an ugly mist and I feel like a weather vane blown around by the winds of turmoil, I head toward laundry needing folded, counters needing scrubbed, problems I can solve, small surmountable tasks, although I’d really rather curl up on the couch and let the day pass without my participation.
And when the days with her are limited, worse than all the sadness is the shame that follows those feelings of a simple, temporary escape, a guilt that is similarly difficult to acknowledge with words.

JEB

4 comments:

  1. I am here, friend. Praying for your strength and for hope and peace to fill you and your home.
    Love and hugs and prayers,
    Debi

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  2. Oh Jenni. What is there to say? Please don't feel guilty. You are suviving something that is horrific...with grace and dignity and optimism. You're allowed to feel down and sad and try to escape. Thinking of you. Every day.

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  3. I'm with Tiffany. I wish I had some magic words to take away youre guilt and to soothe your beautiful daugther's cries. You're amazing just like she is

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  4. Aching grief. I hate the suffering that puts you all through this torture.

    Anyone who would not crave some kind of escape (both for you, and for your daughter, who you love so much)...would be insane. You are not.

    God, God, have mercy.

    Cathy in Missouri

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