It is hard to read through your tears.
I knew that reading wondering who you are, by Sonya Lea would stir up emotions of what it was like when Chuck was in the hospital and shortly thereafter. What I did not expect was to find another couple who had worked so hard on their marriage only to have been blindsided by, in their case, cancer and a brain injury to come in and steal all of the work, they had been so courageous to undertake.
One of the most frustrating parts since Chuck's accident is why did we have his amazing connection that summer only to have it becoming like an ephemeral dream that I can't quite grasp like clouds that disappear on early summer mornings in Colorado. But we know that life is not always fair.
When I finally made it back to Colorado, I researched everything I could trying to figure out what would help Chuck regain his old self. I found physical therapists to work on his speech, his gait, and his memory. I transversed the medical and insurance network that resembled a jungle gym to find him a neurologist who we were hoping would have the cure we desperately wanted.
In all of my reading, I kept finding this statement in blogs and forums of other families that had a loved one that suffered a traumatic brain injury, "the silent death of the marriage" and even though I feared this greatly, I believed that my faith and the faith of others would be enough to save me, save us from another death. And though we have experienced many supernatural experiences when it came to Jonathan and Chuck while in Florida, we were not spared "the death of the marriage". I think Sonya paints a very beautiful, but tragic picture of what that looks like.
Sonya Lear writes:
"My husband as I recognize him is gone," I say.
"That man died to you," she says.
I push the food around on my plate. I don't tell her what I am thinking: Sometimes death looks like bodies decomposing. Sometimes it's the death of a memory or history, or identity, a consciousness that slips away, a ship listing past the curve of the horizon.
As I underlined these words, I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving, that God gives me these gifts, these narratives, where I find solace among others who have suffered something similar-
These books uncover the hidden places of pain that I have not processed.
Not all gifts are wrapped in shiny paper with ribbons and bows- some are dog-eared books where epiphanies are scribbles in the margins. They looked to be penned with ink or graphite, but in all reality they are written with the silent tears that have been hidden away, just waiting to be released.
Though I am only halfway through this book, I realize that we have joined the ranks of so many other married couples out there just like us- trying to pick up the pieces of what was left.
For us, there was so much unfinished business that pertained to the toxic churches and the abuse, before Chuck's accident, but I had faith that we would some how work through the pain. What I did not expect, was to have everything in my life upended- every part of what I considered my identity became unfamiliar- And in the middle of trying to rebuild we receive a final blow when we are faced with the fact that our pastor has molested our daughter. What faith I was desperately trying to hold onto seemed to slip through my fingers. I never thought I would feel rootless and homeless ever again after marrying Chuck. Throughout each trauma, I found myself less recognizable, and yet there was this thin rope that kept me from drifting too far away.
Only a small group of women were the recipients of my emotional disembogue that came in the form of long emails where I could allow myself to release all of the stress that came with all of our changes.
It is hard to rebuild the self, one's faith and a marriage at the same time.
This fall we will technically celebrate 25 years of marriage, but really, we are starting our second marriage- as we grieve for what was and what should have been, we are building something new. I compare it to learning how to dance, except I have a bad back, and he tends to forget which way we are going, so the process is painfully slow.
But as I read this book, I can see how far we have come, in almost five years. But I can also see how far we have to go. It is very hard to look at a man that you have known for all of your adult life, and yet not know him. He wants to be seen as Chuck, not Chuck before or after the accident- It's like tying off one string and adding a new thread to create this patchwork quilt of memories from the past, as well as the new experiences can be tricky, especially for someone like me that hates to sew.
Living in a perpetual changing state of past and present has left me dizzy, confused, and frustrated. So I had to make a decision- I had to let go of the man I fell so deeply in love with as well as letting go of a man that I still had past hurts that blocked our communication, that kept me at a distance-safe, and yet very, very lonely.
Over the last few days we have sat up all night talking, willing to engage in conversations that would make us uncomfortable, and maybe even angry, not knowing if our honesty and truthfulness, would be able to receive by the other as we saw it. Through the pain and tears we started sharing our fears once again, and started connecting. Not all is lost.
It is hard to rebuild the ruins of your life, when you don't know what to keep and what to throw out, much time can be wasted while contemplating if that memory is worth the pain, or is worth the fight. So we have started sifting through piles of rubble that we have left, from former relationships, former dreams, our faith, the church, and our children. We started sorting things into what we wanted to keep and what we wanted to throw away, and then there was a pile where we didn't agree. In addition, we learned we needed a pile where we place things we just weren't ready to give up, but maybe we could package up those memories like we each remembered them to be and pack them away, in a safe place.
If you have ever had to do some deep purging in your house, you need someone that knows you, but is willing to speak truth when it matters- we have just started this process, and I found we don't always remember things from the same perception, but it doesn't mean that those memories can be handled by uncaring hands, but gentle and patient hands that are willing to wait until the person is willing to let go of it. I see some of the same processes in this book- adaptability and resilience mixed with a deep abiding love that is willing to start over once again.
