I hate going out in public these days. Even just getting in the car to start the errand process, can bring on heaviness, profound sadness. There’s literally a physical reaction and it feels as if someone is standing on my chest, I feel hot, and panicky feelings set in. And then the tears. That seemingly non-ending flow of tears as I move around town.
I was praying the other day while out running errands…more like bawling out loud and talking to God…but that’s what prayer looks like right now for me. I was lamenting to God how much I hated this. This moving on with life. I hate it! I resent it! I don’t want to move on. When I am doing something that resembles “moving on” it feels disloyal. It feels wrong, it feels like a lie. I am existing on the top layer, pretending everything’s OK, looking normal to those I come in contact with.
But what I realized in that moment, as I cried out to God between Walmart and the bank, moving on doesn’t mean moving away. Because I go to the cleaners, doesn’t mean everything’s ok now. Because I make a deposit at the bank, isn’t an indication that Grant means any less to me. Just because I run to the store for milk, does not mean my affections for Grant are less or “I’m getting over it.”
I am not moving on from Grant, as if that were even possible. I am attempting to move on with this life God gave me. I am not moving away from his memory, or what I miss most about him, or moving away from the love and affection I have for Grant. I will never move on from those things, never regardless of what I am doing, or what life looks like now in the day to day.
So tomorrow, when life starts to put her demands on me, pressing me to move forward, I will remind myself, that moving on does not mean, will never mean, moving away.