Starting Over

 I grieved...

Hot, angry droplets that stung as they rolled down my cheeks.

Staining pillows, sheets, shirts. 

Leaving behind concrete evidence of embarrassment and hurt. 

First, there was the status.

I'm the strong-willed, smart one.

I should have been rich. Wasn't that my setup?

Or was it a setup of expectations from the incompetent?

Was I brought up, or setup to believe that good grades held weight?

Did they know it was all a lie?

Or did they really try their best?

They could have kept their best to themselves.

It set me up for unrealistic expectations I placed on myself.

And when I finally began to see and understand the truth, it was too late for it not to hurt. 

Then there was my blood.

It's toxic.

It poisons.

It betrays.

It destroys.

It celebrates your defeats and then demands a seat at your Christmas table.

Expecting pseudo smiles and shallow, polite conversations. 

And I oblige the expectations, having used the entire week to mentally prepare for it.

And I leave the "celebration" drained. 

Seriously questioning whether or not I care about myself. 

Because, why else would I torture myself, annually? 

It's the blood...

Bronze goes to my health.

My immune system hates me.

Its attacks are systematically, never ceasing.

There is no relief. 

Just moments less intense than the others.

There's no empathy.

Just people who wish you'd stop talking about it and get better. 

There's no rest. 

There's too much pain to rest. 

There's always fear.

Fear of what pain or defect is coming.

Walking support is coming.

Blindness is coming.

Organ failure is coming. 

I must stop it from coming. But how?

Help is not coming. 

Finally, I grieved the babies I never bore. 

I prayed for sons.

And a daughter.

Before the humbling economic status.

Before the failing health.

Because of the toxic blood. That way I could fill my own Christmas table. 

But I got no sons.

I was allotted the daughter. And she's perfect. 

Thank God.

Thank God.

I just wanna thank God.

I just hafta thank God.

I used to hate me.

Enough to try and eliminate me.

But God, I thank you.

Recession hasn't seen my household begging for bread.

Or butter.

So, God, I thank you.

My husband loves me. Loves to care for me. 

He works daily so I can stay home and preserve my failing health.

And then rubs the pain out of knots that try to break me.

And so, God, I thank you.

That one little girl is a reminder of the power of God.

The promises of God.

Why wouldn't I thank you.

I thank you for the courage to let go of the plans I had for myself, so that I could walk in the plans that you have for me.

I thank you for allowing me to teach the next generation to love and trust you, just because of who you are.

I thank you for the strength of transparency. 

Because somebody reading this, just started over.

Is about to start over.

Is afraid of starting over. 

Is embarrassed to start over. 

Is avoiding starting over. 

Thank you, God, for allowing me to start over

And for keeping me every step of the way.