Sometimes, you just have to turn on the lights and start the dishwasher.

Egads!

Yikes!

May and June can be rough, at times. Time I dodge, get through, the Mother’s Day bullet, here comes, the Father’s Day bullet…*sigh*.

During, these weeks, I suck it up butter cup, I pull myself up by the bootstraps, I keep on keeping on, and all the other blasted sayings one says to get through times like these!!!!!!!

Opppps…..sorry for letting the mini scream slip out, there. Have been wanting to have a good cry, a good scream, a good SOMETHING to let these, I miss you mom, I miss you dad, feelings out.

I miss you, mom.

I miss you, dad.

So much so, I spent ALL weekend. And, I mean ALL of it, hiding in the dark, whilst binge watching Station 19 AND Grey’s Anatomy. That and ate pizza, in moderation, of course.

I REFUSED to allow myself, to go backwards. Have come to far, dammit, in order to allow myself to slide, to hide, in the dark, and pretend the okay, was okay. When, in fact, the okay has NOT been okay, and, that’s okay.

I did NOT want to:

Turn on the lights.

Go to work.

Live.

I wanted to:

Hide, in the dark.

Survive, under the covers.

Distract myself.

I CHOSE, to keep it moving. Put on my big girl pants, stood, shakily, turned on the lights, went to work, kept it moving. Work was hard. Didn’t want to be there. Fought through the not want to. Took a break and….loaded the dishwasher.

Don’t ask me why doing something so mundane, turned the rest of my outlook and afternoon around. I think because it reminded me of how I FINALLY, turned things around, after mom had passed away. I had spent days, days I tell ya, in the dark, getting roaring drunk. did so, for 11 days, straight. I know, because I counted.

I drank, and cried. Cried, and drank. Fussed at myself for doing so much drinking, when not a drinker. Forget about standing. Forget about reaching out. Was NOTHING but a ball of pain, of mad(at God, of course for taking mom), of…no idea. Just one big ball of fresh hell and grief.

On day 12, I said ‘no more’. Mom wouldn’t want this. Told God….hmm….okay what I told God would not be fit for young viewers. Let’s just say, the words, kick rocks, was all up in the mad/sad somewhere.

God understood. Whispered to me to turn on the lights, take out the trash, and run the dishwasher. He didn’t admonish me. Didn’t chastise me for being angry with Him. Did not toss the previous 11 days in my face. Just whispered “Turn on the light. Take out the trash. Run the dishwasher”.

I get up, still mad, turn on the light, still mad. I slam trash every which way, still mad, stuff all the every which way trash, in the blasted trash bag, dammit, STILL mad. I delicately slam dishes in the dishwasher, still mad. As delicately as you could slam and throw around, plastic dishes, of course.

The hum, of the dishwasher, accompanied my tears, hummed along to my angry ‘why dammit, why’ rant, hummed as I slung the dammed trashbag, over my shoulder like Santa Claus. My hurt and anger and grief, hummed along, with me, as I stomped and stormed my way, to the dumpster.

Dumpster lid, flew one way, trash bags, another, as I tossed them, tossed my grief, howled my anger, into the trash bin. Drug myself back, up the stairs, into a well lit room, with dishwasher humming, keeping me company, keeping my grief company, almost as if to say ‘you will be okay. Just takes time. Just have to start with turning on some lights, with turning on the dishwasher.

Hearing the swish, of the stupid dishwasher(still angry of course), calmed my broken heart. I imagined my heart getting cleaned, as well. The thumping of plates and glasses, opps, didn’t put them in as nicely as I could and should have, seemed comforting, somehow, someway.

God didn’t lecture me. Just stayed with me. Listening to the dishwasher, with me. Listening, to me, as I asked Him, over and over, why He needed to take my mom….*sigh*. She was in pain. He didn’t want her hurting so, anymore. Neither, did I.

By the time, dishes done, my anger, was done. Grief, still there. Is here, still. Yet, said grief is now enveloped in His Comfort.

Now, when I have a really bad missing mom/dad day, I make sure to turn on a light, somewhere. Get on up, take out the trash, and put one foot in front of the other.

If you are struggling, beloveds, get on up, turn on the light, take out the trash, start the dishwasher.

Yes, the losses still hurt. Yes, you still wish to cry, rant, rave, carry on. It’s okay to not be okay, until you ARE okay. Okay?….*smile*.

It felt good, truly, to lean upon God’s Words, Gods Character and God’s Deep and Abiding Love for ME.

I got this. You got this. And, God and Life, has us all.

It WILL be okay. Things really do come out, in the wash. šŸ™‚

His servant and your friend,

Cassandra LOVED

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