I can't go in elevators. I'll attempt carrying my baby in one arm, yanking a stroller up 2 flights of stairs with the other, while encouraging Tage to keep up versus taking an elevator. Thankfully a Good Samaritan helped me.
Tage was taken from me. It was a slow goodbye. He sunk in deeper & deeper and I had to watch in quiet grief. I cried, I anguished, I cursed, I pleaded. God promised. He keeps promising even when I see no end. Little progress. Lazy school professionals.
There's many days where I can't find any tears. Just numb. Elevator panic is just residual pain. Trauma. People don't understand the "he was taken away comment." They need it neater. More explainable. I see it for what it truly is. It's a grief that can swallow me whole. Like the elevator. 4 walls closing in, oxygen leaves my lungs, no escape. I cut the grief off too short maybe that's why elevators now haunt me? Or my difficulty learning to trust.
I want to obey. That's all I can do. Maybe try to trust a little more too.
Comments