Sometimes when you’re so committed to a lie, it’s hard to see the truth.
I went to church on Easter with my family. It was our first time back since “That” Monday happened. We were greeted with warm hugs. We sat in the back row because my husband Chris is a doctor, and he was on call. We made it through about 75% of the service before he got called in for an emergency case, when we quickly whisked the four boys out the back doors of the church and made our quick getaway. (Typically I would drive separately, but since it was Easter, parking was already difficult.) Anyway, we were there for MOST of it. It was very difficult, because what is Easter about? DEATH. And resurrection.
My daughter died. She was resurrected. Her brain never recovered, but her heart was strong, her liver was healthy, and her kidneys intact. Her eyes, though plagued by glaucoma in life, were perfectly viable donations. I feel like even though she had died when I found her on April 8, she was resurrected, pronounced brain dead on April 10, and now continues to live on in others. So anyway, the death talk at church was really tough to listen to. I cried all the way through the singing and music part. I rushed out and hid in the bathroom during the “Turn and greet the people around you!” part. Then we left early, so I missed the happy ending part of the sermon. But I’m not here to preach. I SWEAR I am going somewhere with this.
At one point during his sermon, the pastor said one line that really stood out to me. He said, “Sometimes when you’re so committed to a lie, it’s hard to see the truth.” I immediately took out my phone and typed it into my notepad, knowing that my memory is rubbish. That is so true. We see this played out every day in politics, in the justice system, in relationships, and in our own minds. Everything I see or hear reminds me of Alydia, and I thought about the ways that sentence applied to her. Was she committed to those lies she wrote about in her journals? Did she really believe that she was worthless? Did she really believe she was unloved, or unlovable? Was she so committed to the lie that she couldn’t see how amazing she truly was? It was a little wisdom nugget that I tucked away in my notepad.
Chris and I have a hot tub, and it’s where we do all of our best talking. There is no TV, mostly no phones, no distractions. It’s just the two of us together, talking and listening to each other. It’s under a covered porch so we go out rain or shine. We call it our therapist. My advice for a happy marriage is to get a hot tub. It’s cheaper than therapy, and communication is so vital. So anyway, we were in the hot tub and I brought up that line that stood out to me, and how I applied it to the lies we tell ourselves. If we lie to someone else, our facts can be verified by the other party. But if you are lying to yourself, and keep the lies within your private journal and your own thoughts, who is going to tell you the truth? Alydia was so committed to the lies she told herself, that she couldn’t see the truth.
Last night, as I was listening to the thunder, getting lost in my thoughts and drifting off to sleep, Chris was holding me and he said, “Don’t you dare believe any lies that you may be telling yourself. You ARE a good mother. You’re a good wife. You’re a good person. I need you here.” I assured him that I’m not going to be with Alydia anytime soon, at least not by my own doing. Now as I sit here with my morning coffee finishing this up, I realize it is May 1. That awful month is over, and the world keeps moving on without her.
2 thoughts on “if it weren’t for my pill sorter, I wouldn’t know what day it is”
This is my favorite. I hope you will post a link on FB. ❤
That goes deep. It touches pain that is relevant for me. Thx Emmy. I wonder if there’s anybody out there who has not had that thought at sometime or another.