11/11/12  I have struggled with writing or not writing. It came to a point that I had some serious emotions that I wasn't sure how to deal with or if I wanted them to be public. There are times that I am so angry, I could rip my own skin off. There are times when I am so hurt that I could go to sleep and never wake up. There have been some "revelations" in my life the past few months that have encouraged me to keep writing. The worst part about putting it on paper (and online)  is reliving certain days, events and feelings, that I am not sure I want to relive anymore. A part of me wants to forget about it, ignore it and move forward. But the intelligent, sensical side of me tells me to deal with it or I will never be able move forward.

I read a draft that I wrote on August 30th and never posted. That must have been a really bad day for me. This is what I wrote but never posted publicly:

I cannot believe that in ten days, it will be the one year anniversary of Scott's accident. I hate using the word 'anniversary' because it surely is not something that I want to celebrate in any way. I also cannot believe that it is not over. I never would have thought that 365 days later we would still be no further ahead. And I say that with negativity and my piss poor attitude. And I know, we have made leaps and bounds in the last three hundred and fifty some days, but I want to know when we will see the finish line. When will the flagman wave that checkered flag and say, 'You win!'? When is my family going to be back to the way we used to be? Actually, I know the answer to that. We will never be how we used to be. We will forever have to make adjustments to our normal and actually that is really okay with me, I think.

I kick myself in the ass because I have not held true to my own commitment to myself to write every day. I cannot express enough how writing this blog has been my personal therapy. There have been so many events, some big and some small, that have happened since my last post. I guess I just lost what was important to me. Even if not one person reads it. It doesn't matter. It's kind of like when you want to say something to someone on Facebook or Twitter: you type it, think about it, then hit the delete button. Well, I am not hitting the delete button anymore.

I am afraid of myself though. In the aspect, that when I am angry or hurt or frustrated, I cannot hide it. There is nothing fake about me. I cannot fake happiness for more than, let's say 30 seconds. Oh and there's that "red faced" thing that I get when I am pissed. It's a dead give-a-away when I am mad. I hate that!!

Everytime I try to get back any resemblance of normalcy in this family, it is taken away. I often ask myself why do I do what I do? I hate the fact that every decision I make seems to be the wrong one. But then I find myself asking, what if?

I went to church today for the first time since we moved to North Carolina and the first time in several years. Our daughter, Morgan has been attending this church for several months with one of her dear friends, Jordan. She has asked every Sunday for us to go and every Sunday I have said no. I realized today why I have been telling her no all this time. Let me get something straight first. I believe in being a Christian, I believe Jesus died for our sins and I believe that living the life of a Christian will lead to greater things.

I am used to the small community churches, where everyone knows everyone. You grab the hymnal and pretend to sing along with the elderly woman, usually the Preacher's wife, playing the piano. After you heard of salvation and damnation, all in the same surmon, you would come together for a potluck. I was almost forced as a child to go to church every Sunday. Not by my parents but by my grandmother, Norine. If you wanted to hang out with her later and do things like go shopping, be at the pool and eat a fantastic meal, that was the price you paid. Grandma Norine always made us dress up and be on our best behavior. If we were real good during the service, we were rewarded with what us kids called "Granny Green Gum". Essentially the Extra mint gum. She was a God-fearing woman who lost her life to cancer at an early age. Her death started my questioning of God's intentions. Someone so devoted to church, community and family. It just didn't seem fair.

I went today with good intentions. I was actually looking forward to some quality time with Morgan. It's been a trying week (month, year). I was amazed that pulling into the church was a major production. They have someone directing traffic to get into the parking lot!! I knew this was not the church I was accustomed to and frankly. I was a little nervous. Once we entered the building, Morgan asked if I wanted to get a coffee. "No" was my immediate response. I had never been to a church that had a concession. They had 3 big screen televisions with advertisements for upcoming events and we were not seated in old wooden church pews but comfortable padded chairs. Of course, Morgan wanted to be in the front row. There was a stage that clearly was set up for a band. On one of the screens was a countdown to the start of the service. One by one, the band members came out to the stage, one not wearing shoes. The anxiety was building just for the fact that I had no idea what was going to happen. The music started and there wasn't a little old lady at the piano. There were trumpets, guitars, drums, keyboards and singers!

The surmon was about politics. The pastor did an amazing job teaching the congregation that your political views and religious views should not determine one or the other. That you should not hate someone based on their political agenda. And that no matter who is in office, who our elected officials are, it doesn't matter because God would always be King. And God will direct those leaders' hearts to do what is best for this country.

As he was preaching, I could feel myself getting more and more anxious. I could feel the air blowing on me but I was starting to sweat. I felt nauseous and I couldn't stop the tears any longer. He had asked the congregation to get up and take communion and accept Jesus. I couldn't move and yet I wanted to get up and run out of there as fast as I could.

I agreed with everything he was saying, but I wanted to stand up and yell, "Why, God? Why my husband, why me, why us?"