Weeping through the sunset

This is the end of the glorious sunset I watched as I tried to keep my eyes on the road on my drive home after work today.  I am currently tutoring at a school not too far from Marine Drive, so I get to enjoy the scenes of the Columbia River while driving to and from work every day.  It’s really lovely, but as I realized while trying to enjoy today’s sunset, life’s simple enjoyments don’t come as easily for me these days.  Today, when I first noticed the radiant orange-pink sky of the setting sun, I felt that rush I’ve always gotten when I am impressed with one of God’s great shows in nature.  It felt good to enjoy, if only for a moment, for what followed was something that has become all too familiar.  Anger… then hurt… then despair. 

How could I be feeling such strong, negative emotions while enjoying the sunset?  At first I was perplexed, but then it came to me.  I was enjoying God’s beauty in nature, which made me think of God.  And in thinking of God, I became angry.  And I then had to face, once again, my anger toward God for taking my baby away.  I feel cheated.  It hit me hard, as He was showing me something beautiful, which normally I would enjoy as fully as I could, right to the last drop.  But it seems that these days any inkling of joy that I experience is quickly saturated and overtaken by the darkness of my sorrow.  A bit of laughter, a sweet caress, a thoughtful gift, the satisfaction of a good workout, a kind or encouraging word… are all followed by tinges of guilt and waves of sadness.  Sometimes it’s just a small wave that returns to calm in the next moment, but other times, times like today, the waves of sadness awaken the sea of sorrow that constantly stirs just below the surface.  On days like today, the sea quickly turns dark and the waves become nearly unmanageable swells leading steadily into a full-fledged storm of emotions.  I am all-to-easily overcome by the harsh waves of sadness, doubt, regret, grief, anger and despair. 

I acknowledged all of this as I drove along the river.  I told God how angry I am, how hard it is for me to trust that I will ever be o.k. again.  I asked him how long I would hurt like this.  At one point I was crying so hard I couldn’t see the road through my tears.  I pulled over, let myself cry good and hard, and once I calmed down I tried to enjoy the rest of the sunset.  I stayed for a few minutes, but realized if I stayed for the entire sunset (try to enjoy it to the last drop), I would delay my arrival to that nasty traffic jam at the I-5 bridge, causing Ghaith to worry about me by getting home late.  Rather than try to later explain my desire to stay and enjoy the sunset’s last drops, I decided to keep going.   As I drove, the sun got lower and lower in the sky and I was somehow able to let myself anticipate the joy of those last moments when the sun gets even brighter right before slipping below the horizon for the night.  As I drove, the road came to a place where it drops lower for a stretch and I couldn’t see the horizon from there.  Not wanting to speed, but also not wanting to miss the last drop, I hurried along.  As the road rose again and I could see the horizon, I saw that the sun had already set.  It happened without my knowing. 

Again, I felt cheated.  It felt similar to how we lost Rami, on a much smaller scale of course.  But it was the same feeling. 

As excited as I was to be pregnant, I was hesitant to love my baby in the beginning, for fear of losing him – I think a lot of pregnant women must experience that.  And as he grew, I let myself start to enjoy him, his movements, his personality.  I would sing to him, dance with him, and rub my belly to comfort him and show him my love.  It was such a wonderful time in my life.  It was the happiest I’ve ever been and the most beautiful I have ever felt.  Ghaith too let himself love our boy in meaningful ways.  He talked to Rami every night as we laid down to sleep, and every morning before he left for work.  He would give my belly big noisy kisses, and Rami would be just tickled with joy.  Rami knew his baba.  He reacted to Ghaith like he did with no one else.  Just the presence of Ghaith’s hand on my belly, and Rami would move toward him, like gravitation or a magnetic pull.  It was the most amazing feeling.  And if I hadn’t felt Rami move much on a particular day, Ghaith could always get a reaction out of him… except for that last morning before Ghaith left for work.  I remember feeling a little worried when Rami didn’t respond to his baba’s voice or touch or noisy kisses.  It was later that day we learned that he had slipped away without our knowing. 

And I felt cheated.  And I still do.

There is a verse, ONE verse in the Bible that seems to consistently bring me comfort.  It was written to Rami in a letter the pastor at his funeral wrote and read aloud.  I didn’t know where in the Bible it came from but I’ve had it written on a scratch piece of paper and taped to the wall beside my bed for the past few months.   It helps me get through those long, dark hours at night when I am most vulnerable.  When the rest of the world sleeps, I weep. Ghaith and I resdiscovered that verse last Sunday.  We haven’t been reading together as much as we’d like, but felt we should seek the Lord before going to visit Rami’s grave that day.  It was Ghaith’s first time back since the burial 3 months ago.  Ghaith prayed that morning, and felt we should read Psalm 30.  Not knowing, what was in it, we opened our Bibles and were comforted by God’s words there, the same words I cling to every night:

“weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” ~Psalm 30:5

See you in the morning my sweet Rami.