I thought that “Be Thou My Vision” would be the anthem for a couple of Sundays ago. Not so much. It’s this Sunday. I decided that I couldn’t be weak about it any more, and as the accompaniment started my hand balled into a fist and my nails involuntarily dug into my skin until it hurt. Having something to focus on other than being mired in memories kept me from flooding and I made it through without having to leave and come back. The first time, I ran to the bathroom to throw up. The second time, I went into the workroom and cried my eyes out. I was shaking and shuddering with grief and the church secretary came in. She was startled beyond belief, but not more than me.
My eighth grade history teacher saw me and validated my pain. I let that wash over me as the tenors began their cascade. Then Wayne showed up. And Sherry. And Matt. Then Stacy, Melinda, Lisa, SarahAnne, and all the rest just showed up and stood around the room and I could hear their voices and it was heaven in a moment, just like I needed it to be. I needed something to cut through the tape that causes my nerves to lose myelin and my face to lose blood.
The lifeline on my left palm looks like hell, but I was able to give my section the support it needed, and it was more important to me than feeling my own pain. To me, it is a hallmark of rising above survival mode.
It can only get better from here.