I think you know you've had an emotionally draining week when you finally rest your head on a Friday night, are instantly joined by your cat who proceeds to drool all over herself, your arm and your pillow; and instead of freaking out and getting up to wash your arm and change your pillowcase, you mutter a quiet expletive and nod off to sleep.
I guess it's because there was comfort in being sandwiched between my beloved and Lucy, even though one was snoring and the other drooling.
Oddly enough, when I woke up in the middle of the night I also found comfort in prayer. My prayers are still kind of confused and anguished since I'm still in the process of redefining my relationship with God (we're perfect candidates for couples counseling at the moment) but in that foggy, half awake, dreamy state I managed to put a few coherent thoughts together and shoot them up to heaven before falling back to sleep.
I really hope he was listening. I've been seriously doubting that lately. I know that when you pray for something and you don't get it, theoretically that means that God heard you but had other plans. That makes perfect sense, of course, but unfortunately it's much easier to feel abandoned and neglected instead.
I'm trying to get over that. I'm trying to remember all the prayers that DID get answered. And there are a lot of them. I'm married to one of them, for instance.
But it's still so hard to know that my prayers couldn't save my son. And five months later they couldn't save someone else's either. That's a bitter pill to swallow.
I know people have to die and I know some lives are only meant to be brief, but I still think it's unreasonably cruel to take a baby who is so loved and so wanted just hours after he takes his first breath. I don't believe God is cruel though, and that's why I'm so utterly confused by this. How can a benign, loving entity exact so much cruelty? It doesn't make any sense at all.
Clearly I'm missing something.
I know I should probably go talk to my Priest, but I'm kind of embarrassed by my current faith crisis. I've never had one before and I feel weak and ashamed that I do now. I can't bear the thought of going in and telling him that I've been mad at God for almost 6 months. I'm sure he'd understand and I'm sure he's heard that many times before (I can't be the only person to be shaken by life's cruelty) but I just don't have the courage to do it right now.
I realize the alternative is to stay mired in this confusing spiritual bog, but I've had to use my strength and courage for other things since Thomas died and I'm all tapped out.
One day, if God and I can't sort this on our own, I guess I will take us into couples counseling. But until then I'll just continue to hope that my middle of the night prayers will be answered and that one day I'll have faith in them again.