Have you ever felt like you’re watching yourself from another vantage point, almost in an “out of  body” experience?

I see myself walking around, going through the motions of life, but remaining detached and unaffected.

This month has paralyzed me.

Certain memories (that I was pretty sure I had processed and moved forward from) have come back with a vengeance.

Unfortunately I’m replaying them all this week, surprised and dismayed at details I thought had long since been forgotten.  Hospital, surgery waiting room, ICU, confused and helpless doctors, ventilators and tubes, codes and crash carts….a daddy looking at two little boys, giving the “I love you” sign to them as they leave his hospital room.  It is their last memory of a strong, handsome, loving, pretty-close-to-perfect father who loved them more than anything on earth besides God (and on most days, me)…

I’m treading water.  Barely.

With God’s help, the boys and I are doing well.  There’s been rebuilding.  And restoration.  We’ve put in the work, but God’s done the healing. The three of us have our feet firmly planted again on solid ground.

Then why do I feel like I’m in quicksand?

I’ve never hidden my emotions from my sons, and they, too, are processing their grief a bit differently this week.

We’ll survive, God promises it.

Through it all, we cling to the realization we aren’t doing this alone.

Next week, we’ll turn the calendars to August and collectively breathe a sigh of relief.

We’ll settle back into a more normal routine.  The bad memories will again get filed away, and we will focus on all the wonderful blessings God has given our family.

I’ll re-inhabit my body and do more than “go through the motions.”

Life is difficult.

Life is beautiful.

Surprisingly, it can be both at the very same time.

We’re living proof.