Summer of Sorrows

"I will be glad and rejoice in your unfailing love,
for you have seen my troubles,
and you care about the anguish of my soul."
Psalm 31:7

It feels like the Summer of Sorrows. Families are moving far away and the goodbyes are hard on all of us. Nate observed the other day that he is the only one who has not had a close friend move. Mercy. Friends' loved ones fall ill; some die. The lake house is still. not. ready. Close, but d-r-a-g-g-i-n-g on. Our furniture does not look right in my parents' bedroom. Not right. The carpets are still not tacked down and cleaned, so the visual chaos continues. I took the rest of Mom's clothes to Angelic Resale and I couldn't part with her shoes. It was just too sad. So her black SAS lace-ups sit under the little wooden rocker by the front window.

I've heard that caregivers feel sort of lost after their loved one dies and the caregiving role is over. I don't feel so much lost as drowned. I feel like we are hit with wave after wave of distress, and I'm just rolling around underneath the surface. Garage flood. Crash. Leaky bathrooms. Crash. Strep. Crash. Car breakdown. Crash. Friends move. Crash. I am cranky. I am distracted. Karis wonders if I'm depressed. Who knows?

And around the crashing surf and my flailing, life goes on. I'm helping with a women's mentoring program. Nate has started fall football. Meg is finishing up her third summer course, a beast of a class. Karis visited a friend in Montana, is having a week off work, then will be back on her nanny job. Ev has asked to homeschool again after three years in private school. I start back to work next week, with educational therapy and tutoring. I don't know if I will need to pursue a side job like Kohls or not. Dave is preaching and carrying more than his load at church.

I can't say that I'm glad and rejoicing like the psalmist. But it is a comfort to know God sees my troubles and He cares about the anguish of my soul. And I have hope that the glad and rejoicing will come. Surely they will come.