Posts never posted

At the beginning of this nightmare our family went thru, I started writing things in the Notes app in my phone. These things were my conversations with God. They were dark, angry and bitter. They were not PG or even PG-13. I still have them. I am not sharing them here now and probably never will, because that's not what they were for. At first, I wanted to use them as a gauge for myself. Am I getting less angry or more angry as time passes? Do I need someone to help me sort thru these thoughts? Do I have a chance at a life without this anger? I will say my "tone" has dialed down from a 9.5 to maybe a 7 or 6, and I'm using less colorful language to express my rage... but there is still rage and it is still miserable. Even as I am laying in bed typing this out right now, I am seeing in my mind the last hour of her life and the rage just builds and builds to the point I have to get up, walk around and try to look at things around the house, like the mail that came in today or look in the cleaning supplies closet to see if I'm low on something, anything to try to clear my head. It just doesn't go away easily.

If given the choice right now to permenantly have that night erased from my memory, I wouldn't. It was time with my best friend. It was horrific. It was numbing. But it was time, my last time with her. Hospice wasn't there, even though I called them 4 hours before telling them things were getting really bad. No one showed up. It was just Kristi and I. It was unfair. It was wrong. It should have never happened, not to her. When I see some of the pieces of shit that are allowed to walk this earth unscathed and unpunished - hurting people, being sexual deviants, murdering people, cheating people, name your sin - I am dumbfounded that this was how God allowed her to die. I guess you are seeing a glimpse of my rants that I have locked away in my phone afterall. I don't apologize for it. I've seen people get just as mad when their favorite team loses a game. When the last thing I saw was her immense suffering, it is often hard to imagine her not still suffering. My mind has a hard time going there, as bad as I want it to.

I want her to come back for just a minute to say, "It's ok Scott. I'm ok now. I'm better now than I've ever been. It's beautiful here. I want you here with me but our kids need you there. Please quit being so angry. I love you." 

However, C.S. Lewis' last comment in "A Grief Observed" says this:  "How wicked it would be, if we could, to call the dead back! She said not to me but to the chaplain, 'I am at peace with God.' She smiled, but not at me."

So as bad as I want her to come back for just one minute to selfishly comfort me, it obviously will never happen. Like Lewis' wife, Kristi was also at peace with God, and I am at war. She is smiling, I am conflicted. She is whole, I am broken. If better is one day in His house than a thousand elsewhere, then she is living the dream and it would be wicked of me to want her back in this world, even for that one minute, where she suffered so much for so long.