Broken

I am broken.

I thought I was broken when I found myself pregnant at 18. I thought I was broken we had our car wreck when I was pregnant with Maggie. I thought I was broken when Lainie had her big seizure and all the damage after. I thought I was broken when I had a miscarriage. And another. And a bleed and preterm labor with John's pregnancy.

But that was nothing.

Now, I am broken. I am in the bottom of pit, so dark that the sunlight can't reach me. I am so far down, even the kids' joy can only bring a little smile to my face. I have lost my way.

I almost lost my son. Again. I could have prevented it if I would have checked his fever before I went to sleep. I could have prevented it if maybe I had let them put tubes in his ears last summer. I am a nurse, dammit, I should have known he was getting sick. I could have prevented it... in theory.

But, in fact, only God could have prevented it. And didn't. And that is why I am broken.

Why does God feel the need to make my child suffer through another seizure, with a possible epilepsy diagnosis, with the damage that those hellish electrical fire storms cause.

Why does He allow things to happen to Jay and I and our family, again and again, to cause more pain, more suffering, more struggle.

I am broken. My son is broken. My daughter is broken. Even our finances our broken. And I don't know how to pick up the pieces.

I don't know what works, what will make it bettter. So far, I just know what doesn't help.

"God doesn't give you more than you can handle." That's total bullshit. First off, how can I trust a God who inflicts pain willingly just to test me? Secondly, I am way past the point of being able to handle one more feather weight but I just got a truck load dumped on me.

"What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." That's what I thought last January when John had his first seizure, and couldn't walk afterwards. I thought, "it'll be okay. He will be okay." I don't feel that way now. And that lovely saying? All it is saying that either you'll end up dead, or you will survive. Well, I'm barely surviving, so the alternative is what?

I have hit my knees. I have sobbed. I have screamed. I have been silent. I have prayed. I have hated. I am angry.

I am broken.

But how do I pick up the pieces? Maybe tomorrow will hold the answers.