The Weight of Reason

I am toiling over these pages wanting to say everything perfectly; wanting to be clear in my writing and apparent in my description so that others may understand.  Everything happens for a reason.  This is a heavy thought. 

I wanted to stay in bed all day today.  I have had people tell me that is what they would do.  I don’t believe them.  I don’t think they would stay in bed with two small children under the age of two beckoning them to wake up.  Staying in bed would not be an option.  The morning comes whether I want it to or not.

I woke up today with a heavy feeling from the weight of my dreams.  My dreams carried with them the weight of memory, the weight of motion, and the weight of deep loss.  How can something that is missing bear weight?  There is an irony with words.  Shawn is not physically here and yet his absence carries more weight than either of us could ever have imagined.  I am puzzled by this situation.  I am making every effort to grasp onto meaning, purpose and providence.  But, the more I attempt to figure it out, the more confused and baffled I become.  This is the weight of grief; heavy like water; a rushing, collapsing, drowning kind of water.  This is the weight of reason, too heavy to comprehend.    

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