Snapshots

There is this chapter in the book Lovely Bones entitled "Snapshots".  In this chapter the character/narrator reveals pieces of what she has witnessed as if they were photographs in an album.  They don't tell the whole story because nothing can catalogue her accounts perfectly, but they provide a glimpse.  I want to achieve something like that here today.  My mind feels like a whirl wind of events and moments from this week, and I feel the need to catalogue them. I feel compelled to write tonight, that I will be restless if these thoughts are kept to myself.  So here are my snapshots:

Standing in a twenty minute line for concessions at the D-backs game, my mom prompts me to go watch the pre-game festivities live.  She'll wait in line.  What a perfect vision of selflessness, the true quality of a loving mother.  I hope I can someday achieve that.

Walking in the door exhausted from four hours in the car and three hours at the game, my husband meets me at the door and grabs my backpack.  It's a simple gesture, but it warms my heart nonetheless.

Frazzled and frantic Melinda tries to piece together the AIMS test.  Stacks of test booklets and answer sheets galore, yet she greets each new visitor with a smile.  Each one.

I tell Melinda I'm sick and say my body hates me.  She says "Your body hates fun."  I think she's on to something.

Text message.  Cousin Dominique lost her dad in a car accident this morning.  How could this be?  Reality doesn't sink in.

Phone call from Kevyn.  "Another cousin lost another parent.  I can't imagine that kind of heartache and it's happened twice now."  How poignant and heart wrenching!  How did I not see it that way?  How are we going to cope?

Phone call to Domo.  What do I say?  Second time in weeks I don't know what to say.  How do we comfort a grieving heart?  Certainly not with words.  But I'm not there, what do I do? Hopeless and helpless I say I'm sorry and wish I had more than that to say.

Sick at home in bed.  Wish I could be at Bible study, but my body grieves and my soul grieves. I have given up on this week.  Weary and heavy leaden I come to the computer to write, to pour my words, my endless thoughts somewhere.  God has borne witness to the silent battles, but somehow I still need to write.

Nothing left to say, nothing left to give.  I crawl into bed looking with hopeful eyes toward tomorrow.