Shattered Order
I have spent my entire life believing there was some semblance of order to the world, some kind of logic and structure that kept our universe moving in the right direction. In my simple human mind, there had to be a reason for why things happened. Apparently it's basic human nature to rely on some kind of order, we need it, or at least we need to believe it’s there, so that we can make sense of the world and ourselves.
There are many names people give to this order, for many it is religion. For some, it’s karma or just simply the law of the universe. I was never quite sure what the order was. I never named it but I believed it was there… somehow making sure that people who lived well and treated others with kindness and were generally good humans, would mostly be okay.
Sadly, I’ve spent the last 246 days torturing myself trying to figure out WHY that order didn’t work for me? Why did it stop? What did I do? When did I piss off the universe? What law did I break?
It had all seemed to be working brilliantly for so many years. Where did I go wrong? I’ve been up late at night with very puffy eyes and I’ve emptied many boxes of tissues. During the day, I’ve driven and walked and biked around my neighborhood in physical circles only to circle those circles with the thoughts in my head. Why, why, why? It’s almost maddening at times and has lead me to come up with the most insanely ridiculous reasons why I deserve this course-correcting punishment.
I’ve finally settled, if only for a moment, in a place where I’m able to recognize the soul-bending trauma I’ve experienced. And in that place, I find the constant deafening, maddening whys are quieting, just slightly. I’m pretty certain I’ll never have the answer and there has to be a day when I accept that. If for no other reason than to preserve my sanity.
My world, my universe is forever changed, forever violated by Jon’s death. It’s a constant feeling of having just come home to find your house broken into. The windows shattered, every door gaping open and the entire contents of your house completely turned over, ransacked. Your possessions strewn about the floor. Most of them broken, disregarded and totally irreparable. You begin to walk around your home, picking up the pieces, absolutely petrified at what you might find. What’s around the corner? Are the bad guys still here? Are they coming for me? Are they coming for my children? How could this happen? Why did they choose my house?
The only problem is the house is my entire world, the entire universe as I know it. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere feels safe, secure, normal, and orderly or just. Those possessions are my heart, trampled and destroyed. My memories, hopes and dreams are the items irreparably shattered and strewn about the floor.
When your home is violated, you never feel quite the same in it again. You might convince yourself its okay to go to bed every night but you never have the same sense of security or comfort in that home. You always worry, you always ask questions, you always wonder.
When your home is violated, you never feel quite the same in it again. You might convince yourself its okay to go to bed every night but you never have the same sense of security or comfort in that home. You always worry, you always ask questions, you always wonder.
It’s very similar with the traumatic loss of a loved one. I will never be the same person. I will never be whole. I will never feel the same way, the same security, and the same comfort or that there is justice and reasoning to this life. I will never trust that the order of the universe will keep us safe because it didn’t and that is an incredibly frightening and painful revelation.
But it is another step.
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