Salty tears rolled down my cheeks,
and I bowed down, in pain, screaming. I never knew so many drops could come
from my eyes. Like a heavy rain storm, a constant flow of salt. It hurt. From
the pit of my stomach they came. The bottom of my heart ached. It was all
empty. Still the tears kept rolling, biting, falling. Deep, intense pain –
intimate pain searing through my soul. I was alone. Alone in this world but
surrounded by hundreds of people in the sky. We flew high, in the clouds.
Somewhere above land and sea.
‘In the
clouds’ sounds dreamy, fantastical and imaginary. Shouldn't it all be well and
good up high, in the sky? I had always imagined it to be heavenly up there.
Like a beautiful summer day, an embrace of warm rays. But not this time. Not
when reality hit, when I realized it was a place so blank and cold. No one cared
about my pain, that dagger through my chest - that void existing within.
I’d never sat for that long in an
enclosed space, never sat so unwillingly, never sat shaking like that. My
bottom planted in a seat for hours on end. I watched a movie and another. Read
this card and that. Tried to let the kind words of friend and family sink in.
Their words came in and disappeared into thin air. It didn't register – and to
be honest, I didn't care. I didn't want to know their love through simple
expressions, experience their embrace through words, or feel the distance
through meaningless statements. They would never know nor understand, so why
should I pretend they did. They could not really care, not truly feel, not
fully comprehend. Their words washed over me. Like a raging flood, an
entanglement in the overflow.
How could this be real? How could
I have been pulled from all I knew? How could I have been uprooted like that?
People I loved dearly told me this was their decision. They said it would help
us in the future. That this is where God was leading them. I had no choice – I
just had to go along. I couldn't stay behind as minor. Had no say as defiant
teenager. I wasn't willing, and yet I had to. There was no other option. When
my parents left the only place I’d ever called home, I had to leave with them.
Had to gather my bags, my boxes and my bins. I had to pack my life and place it
in the large container. I had to leave because they wanted to. There was
nothing I could do but go through the motions. Like an awful tornado, driven by
the weighty winds. I had to keep moving, going where I was told.
I’d packed all my belongings and
they were being shipped across the ocean. I’d said good-byes to my friends, my
family, my people and they were staying put in the known. I’d let go off
relationships I knew would never be the same, or be at all. There was no hope
in me, no desire to keep going, no energy to carry on. All there was in me was bitterness,
tears and grief. Grief was what I felt when I sat on that plane for nine long
and torturous hours to Chicago. It was what I felt when lost and forsaken in
that monstrous American airport. Grief was what I felt when flying the last leg
of our life changing trip. It was what I felt when we were treated like
criminals and sat on the floor of the immigration office for hours. Grief was
what I felt when I was bombarded with questions in a language I didn’t speak. It
was what I felt when I saw my luggage and knew I would not be going back. Grief
was what I felt when I lay in a strange bed that long and lonely night. It was
what I felt the next morning in a strange house with strange furniture and an
odd smell. Grief overwhelms. Like a thunderstorm, a darkness engulfing.
My mourning state lasted for
weeks. Weeks and months of cold winter and dark depression. Months of
loneliness, and homesickness. My tears kept rolling, my heart so broken, my
being so torn. I was transplanted, not just to another place in my known
environment, but to a completely new and strange residence. Uprooted and placed
into a new pot in a new greenhouse. I was transplanted and was told ‘Grow! You’re
young! You've life ahead of you! You’ll adjust fast!’ Those words tore my soul,
pierced my heart, and aggravated my being. How could anyone say such words to
me, a young teenage girl, alone in a new world? How could anyone give me
ridiculous advice to learn the language, to get acquainted with my
surroundings, and make friends? As if! Seriously. Did anyone know what they
were saying – did they really think it was something I could ‘just’ do. It
doesn't just happen. I knew it would
take work, much effort on my part, a backbreaking labour with much
disappointment along the way. They said they understood and did not. They tried
to comfort me and wounded me more. They gave advice and had no idea what they
were saying. Like hail, ice-cold pellets piercing me. Each day those tears
rolled, down the now paved paths on my cheeks forever stained with grief. The
tears rolled down and down and burned my skin. The tears rolled fighting to
empty my soul from the pain and bitterness that lived within.
The tears continued to flow but changed.
The tears changed from mourning to dancing. I was uprooted to be planted in a
new place. I had to tear down in order to start building. I had to let go in
order to learn how to embrace. I was shown what to keep and what to throw away.
I experienced darkness and hate in order to accept love. I fought war against
everything and came to experience deep inner peace better than I ever imagined
or have understood. I have never understood why my teenage years were so full
of tears, so full of toil and snare. But those tears showed who I was and was
becoming. It showed not just who I was as I transitioned through different
seasons, but He who was and is and always will be.
Salty tears rolled down my
cheeks, and I bowed down, in thanksgiving, singing Amen Hallelujah.
my perspective from years ago. http://manythoughtsoncewritten.blogspot.ca/2010/07/about-me.html
my perspective from years ago. http://manythoughtsoncewritten.blogspot.ca/2010/07/about-me.html
