Anxiety Speaks

Approximately two years ago I wrote a series of blogs about the untimely and tragic death of my late husband,  Reverend Tim R. McCary.  This created a sort of, for lack of a better way to phrase it, "fan following" of which I still experience today.  Don't get me wrong, it's not a BAD thing, just different.  In fact, only today I fielded private messages from followers attempting to attain my personal cell phone number.  Apparently I now have ALL the answers and have Jesus on speed dial, lol.  Sadly, it seems as though there are plenty among us who have faced the same battles as Tim, which ultimately cost him his life.

I should feel flattered you may say.  Hardly, I would gladly pass the experience of losing someone to suicide or sending a son off to the frontlines of the "war on terror" in Iraq to someone else in a heartbeat.  But then again, no I would not, I would not wish that on my worst enemy.

So, if I am so vocal on Facebook and in my blogs, and freely say what eveyone else is thinking but do not have the internal fortitude to speak aloud, then why was I shaking like a leaf wishing the floor would open up and swallow me at Camp Meeting?  Good question.  And I think I have the answer, but first, a little of my personal valley thru the shadow of death........

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I stood in the shower of my new home, the water mingling with my tears as I cried.  What was wrong with me???  I was happy!  So very, very happy!!  So why was I so so sad? 

I slept all day long every day.  A feeling of worthlesness and wandering around aimlessly, as if lost pervaded my thoughts day to day.  Who was I?  What was my role in this play called life?

I felt like a foreigner in a foreign land.  Living a dream.  Watching my life unfold as if from a distance.  Was that really me down there, no longer a Pastor's wife?  How do I live life in a normal manner?  A life where I am not leading and guiding and speaking and planning and giving and giving and giving, and just living?

And then, there were the nightmares.  Every single night the nightmares, and they were always the same.  The funeral, the casket.  Tim, not gone afterall, but alive.  I had been mistaken about his death.  But what about Paul?  My beloved Paul who had become my whole life?  I longed for Paul but my morality called me back to Tim.  If he were not deceased then surely I was still his wife, living in sin!!

I would awaken panting, in a cold sweat.  Relieved to have Paul at my side yet once agained sickened at the reality of Tims suicide.  I longed for the return of Christ just to be free of the horrible reminders and deep seated emotional pain.  Would I ever be free???

TO BE CONTINUED