Grief

Forgetting to Breathe

I think I am really forgetting to breathe. I stop mid-breath unable to keep going. 

This beautiful man is no longer with me. This kind heart, these loving eyes, and those strong hands are gone. 

Two years ago we were in Charleston on our babymoon. I’m just on the non-functioning side of existence right now. 

There just aren’t words to describe how much was stolen from all of us when that stranger shot him.   

These are the days where we are all alone. These are the days when every evening it’s just me and a demanding toddler who wants what she wants NOW even if she doesn’t bother to know what she wants. 

I’ve lost my cheerleader and the one who always thanked me when I cooked or cleaned. I’ve lost my partner who shared my load. 

I’ve lost the one who would lay on my lap and just be with me. Ive lost the one who worked with me to find shows or a movie with both liked, even though it was hard work we thought we would be doing for a very long time. I’ve lost the one who helped and took responsibility for all the chores. I’ve lost the one who washed dishes, did laundry, picked up toys, and made sure the trash got to the trash can. The one who cooked often and thanked me when I cooked. We were a thanking praising couple. Even for the normal things, the daily tasks, we both tried to praise and give thanks. It was amazing. This beautiful man was always encouraging both personally and for our family. 

And now I sit alone. All the chores are suddenly mine and there is no one to say good job or thank you. No one to kiss. No one to plan with. 

I sit here in darkness … and then hope returns. 

I do have someone to plan with. I do have someone who encourages. I do have someone who loves. 

And I don’t mean a toddler. 

I mean the one who holds Shah close. I have our loving God. I have the Father. I have Jesus. And I have His Spirit with me now. 

I can tell God just how good this organic apple is and just how grateful I am for my down jacket, because I’m not like most people in Atlanta and I know how to dress for the cold. 

God can be my company and talk with me about parenting Zoya. God can convince me that I need to take some days off and travel and rest.  God can also remind me that I will see Shah again one day. 

Some people wonder why I write. This is why I write. 

When I write things become clear. Lies I believe are revealed. Truth becomes plain. The physical world grows dull, but the spiritual reality begins to come into view. 

I love him. I miss him.  I weep.  But I am not alone. 

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About Camila

From the mountains of North Carolina. New widow of a man from Iran. Mother of one precious girl. Anti-human trafficking expert. Pro-life leader. Sister to 16 siblings. Daughter of God.

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