I’ve been sick for the past few days with what appears to be the flu. I think the word flu is an umbrella term for the medical community to give license to say “we don’t know what the hell is wrong with you”. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of having my square-shaped head pounded into a round-shaped hole. In other words – “medical treatment in a box” – if you have this and or this you must have that. NOT! I think I’m going to search out a naturalist for a physician. No one seems to get it that we are all different and we react differently to the environment.
I could write for days about this, but then I’d just be more pissed off and that will not lead to a positive outcome. So I’ll write about what I do know for sure…grief.
Easter has come and gone and it has left a mark on me that it has done on every Easter since the passing of my daughter Brittany in October of 2006. Easter has become a holiday for which has so much more depth for me than in the past. Maybe it’s because of my increasing faith in Jesus. Or maybe it’s because of my increasing faith period. But I do know that it is the hope of the resurrection that keeps me going in this otherwise, painful existence. The hope of seeing my baby again. The hope of seeing all those who have passed – so many to mention here. The cries of my family members who have gone before me ring in my ears somedays to the point that I beg for silence. The grief I have is far and wide. It has no boundries. It permeates my soul to its very core.
Because of Easter I can celebrate the resurrection. Because of Easter I can continue to live in the hope of seeing my baby again. This is why I am still alive.
Until next time,