I keep having dreams that my wound comes open.
Yuck, I know.
Someone asked me a few days ago-- gosh, who was it? I can't remember-- if I'd had any dreams about Ben, and I was sorry to say that no, I haven't had any. Not even one. And I've always been a vivid dreamer-- why haven't I dreamed about the single most important little person I have ever met?
No, my dreams are squarely focused on the "exit wound."
Today, mom and I went to the mall so I could get some really good lotion from Aveda (and copy my friend Mary by picking up fantastic perfume :)) and after walking around for a while, I was completely wiped out. It has been five weeks since Ben's passing and I'm still recovering and it makes me so angry I could scream. In fact, the only real anger I have felt since all of this has happened has been related to this physically painful part. I mean, it's not the end of the world-- I'm not in a lot of pain, though it's incredibly inconvenient and very irritating-- but it's a constant reminder of what's been lost.
The first time I felt the anger, I had just gotten out of the bed for one of the first times after the surgery. My mom, Paige, and Beverly were helping me to the restroom-- I can't remember why there were three of them at that moment!-- and I just broke down crying...oh, that's why there were three of them. I remember now. I was walking the room and it hit me like lightning-- oh, the pain of the incision and the pain of empty arms. Anguish ... at that moment, I knew the word for what it meant. There was no baby in this room. There was no baby in my arms. There was no baby. My baby was in the morgue. My child was cold and uncovered and unheld and unseen and alone, in the same building I was in, but gone from me. I felt like my knees were going to buckle, and Beverly (like an aunt to me, I have known her as long as I've known anyone), Paige, and Mom were at my side. We had banished everyone from the room so I could walk to the restroom freely (and that's saying something-- that place was teeming with friends and family during our whole stay-- and we loved and needed it!) and suddenly there was a freedom to really sort of fall apart.
It felt like the physical pain was for nothing. That it was empty and pointless and fruitless.
It still feels like that.
And it makes me really, really angry.
But with whom? Where do I aim my anger? I can't-- won't-- blame God. I know it's not His fault. It's not my fault. It's not Don's fault. It's no one's fault. I wish I was pagan-- I could blame some wood sprite or tree fairy or Mother Nature or something. I cannot blame anyone. Can I blame Ben for not being strong enough to hang on? Of course not.
It occurs to me, everyone walking the earth is a winner. Birth is dangerous. Treacherous. It's amazing that we survive it, especially when you consider how many perfectly healthy babies don't make it through birth. If you're reading this, I have good news: you've been a success since birth!
Anyway, I want to beat my pain out on the pavement, walking and crying until I collapse, but I still have this stupid wound that is not completely healed. My heart cries out to God, "HEY!!! Did you completely forget about me down here? Hello??? I'm doing my best to trust you in this whole death-of-my-son thing-- you'd think You could at least heal my body so I can get on with life. Hello??"
I'm no Job, but it occurs to me that the enemy tried to get at Job through the death of his children (and wealth), and then through physical pain.
It was like, he knew that Job's physical comfort was the sort of final frontier to a complete loss of sanity or heart. Take his health, the enemy said to God, and he will definitely curse your name.
Hm. Okay, so I'm thinking that I could offer this pain to Him. To say, Okay, even in THIS, I will worship You. Even in the part of this that feels the most meaningless, the most futile, the most worthless, I will worship You. This makes the least sense to me, but I will do it anyway. I have no idea what in the world this pointless pain is achieving, but I will offer it up anyway.
But I'm still praying that the wound heals more quickly.