Warning: this may be a downer

I don't think I've even looked at this blog in over a year. However, due to recent circumstances I have a lot of thoughts that need expressing. I like to write them out, and I try to also make it sound good.

The scene: A young woman sits alone in her childhood home recently left to her by her deceased father. It's dark and rainy outside. Inside, music is playing accompanied by laundry tumbling through the wash. These are her thoughts...

It's comforting and heart wrenching to be here. I look around and know this is very different from the home Dad was living in. The surfaces and corners are free from clutter. The couch and rug are new. The furniture has been rearranged, different placements than they have had for years. Most of Dad's things (clothes, fishing, gardening, hunting stuff) has been boxed up or cleared out of the main rooms. Despite all that, there are things that are his. Things he kept for years and years. Things that had particular meaning and importance to him. It occurred to me it is strange that Dad's things are here when he is not. These things, the fish he caught and mounted, great grandpa's clock, his Arizona Iced Tea bottle collection, cause his presence to linger. I know these are just things. Dad himself would say, "It's just stuff," putting little importance in material things. Still, this stuff has memories attached to it. Even if they aren't all my own memories, they contain something of Dad and what he valued enough to surround himself with.

The memories and all of his STUFF are what I have left. There is a lot, but often I still feel robbed. Dad isn't a part of my present or future. That's a hard thought to face. I know he is still present even if it is only in memories and his belongings. And I'm not angry at him, although I wish he had been more willing to accept help and had made different choices. I'm not angry at God either. In his hospital bed Dad said, "God is good," and I tend to agree. I know God is happy to finally express to Dad that he was always loved. No more doubts and questions. I know God grieves with me, too, for the pain of the last few months and months to come. But sometimes I am angry at the world. I'm angry and bitter that this is not a safe place to live. That people suffer and die. That others are left behind to suffer loss and feel alone. That there is confusion and doubt and regret.

Of course I know there are good things, too. All I have to do is call my mom, get a big hug from my boyfriend, talk in silly voices with my sister, or look up at the clouds and know I'm loved and not alone. It is still a daily struggle to choose to look at the blessings instead of the pain, but I'm determined. With God's help this pain will ebb, new joys will come.