I lay still and stiff… listening for hours on end for the sound of the motion alarm that we had to put outside her door. I ached for sleep to find me, but yet again it was illusive and as I lay there I wonder if tonight would be the night that she would make good on those threats…
Threats that she would make with a calm voice, pure rage in her eyes… I will kill you. I will hurt you. Threats that sent a shiver right down to the core your soul, the hours of screaming and raging were nothing compared to the calm declarations. So, with the passage of time and the building of threats and the constant mind games; sleep never seemed to find me anymore. Instead I held a quiet vigil with my heart racing deep into the night. Fighting for a deep breath of air as prayers spilled out silently from my heart. I loved this child and yet life had become a living hell. I needed help.
The days were long, constantly on guard for the next outburst… Walking on ice and avoiding even making eye contact with my other precious children less her jealousy be sparked starting another round of tantrums… Yet, it didn’t matter how carefully I stepped, eventually the screaming would ensue. Hours of it. I sat with her, fighting the battle to break through her armor… Fighting to show her real love over and over and over again. Things were thrown, things were broken, words were used like a sword slashing away bit by bit at my heart and mind.
Nights became as dreaded as the days, waiting, listening, going over and over in my mind again and again how I would defend myself, or my sleeping children if that alarm sounded.
Trauma shattered who I was, my deep empathy for her hurts burst me wide open. I broke in those days. I became a shell of who I had once been and I longed for escape and yet I continued to fight for her, to show her love.
Eventually things broke wide open and for her safety and ours she had to be hospitalized, we began to realize just how bad things had been and the outcome of that was that no matter what, she can never live her again. Our children were traumatized despite my best efforts to keep her behaviors away from them.
Through it all, I’ll admit I have struggled to understand it. Why? Just simply that… why?
It felt like there was all this suffering, and no purpose to it. Just broken people to show for it. For two years I grappled with that question. Truth is, I still wrestle with it a little. But in the end, I firmly believe that “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28
The truth is, suffering happens in this life and we can suffer with a real purpose “ Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.” James 1:2-4
I’m not anywhere near being mature and complete, I still struggle with PTSD from what happened. I still have the occasional night where nightmares wake me up and I fight to regain calm, to believe that I am actually safe. But I firmly know that God is using it all for good.
My encouragement is this… God has this. This life, the pain and suffering… It was all for my good.
SO…. “Rejoice in the Lord always, again I will say, Rejoice” PhIlippians 4:4
