I push down with all of my weight to compact everything together and stuff everything in as tightly as possible. My week is the suitcase holding together too many events, too much of life. It spills out the sides sometimes through tears or a misplaced sentence. I wish for rest, but the next moment I'm thankful for it. At least the constant barrage keeps me from processing things like leaving.
I just left Madison yesterday. I might go back. Not sure yet.
My dad said that since I was a hall director, he knew I could handle it. But when the call that wakes you comes from your grandmother yelling for help, rather than a duty phone, it's very different. My grandpa keeps saying how he wants to live until the end of his life in his own house. But now that's not possible. I hope they at least medicate him to the point that he doesn't know what's happening. As I was searching through the neighborhood to find him in the middle of the night, I was so angry. Why did he have to get to this point? Why is life so painful, with only small punctuations of happiness and cheer? I think even in the most happy of moments life leaves a bitter aftertaste.
At least life is the most of hell I will ever have to taste.
"14 People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own. 15 If they had been thinking of the country they had left, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 Instead, they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them." Hebrews 11:14-16
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