I'm a fighter. I am all for love, compassion, understanding, etc., but when it comes to it, I'm a fighter. Give me bad news, I want to fight. Argue with me, and my hands ball into fists. Make me mad enough, and I might lash out. When someone I love is hurting, I want to hurt whatever it is back. Maybe it's genetics, there is a fairly significant proportion of Scots-Irish genes in there. I wouldn't discount the temper I got from my dad's side of the family either. In a lot of ways I like my fighting spirit. It gives me an edge, a backbone when I'm blindsided by something, the will to stand up and fight for what I believe in.
Of course, when someone I love is sick, or in the hospital, and there's not a real culprit to go after, I feel helpless. I feel impotent. It makes me angry. And it is supremely frustrating when I feel like there is nothing I can do to help.
This has been a very, very frustrating week. My grandmother had surgery and they've been having trouble managing her pain. She's doing ok, but there's nothing I can do to help her feel better. Nothing to fight, nothing to do but wait and pray and worry.
A good friend found out that her husband's cancer is incurable, inoperable, and there's nothing left for them to do. He's going home to die. She is understandably devastated. And I feel helpless. There is nothing I can do for her. And I want to do something.
I want something tangible I can fight. Something physical I can do. I hate just waiting and praying. It doesn't seem fair. I feel like there should be more I can do, and when the answer is pray...it sometimes doesn't feel like enough.
It seems like I don't put a lot of faith in God, but that's not true. I do. God is always listening, always with us. God hears everything. God hears us when we ask for things. Sometimes I just don't like the answer. Sometimes I want the answer I want, and I don't get it. Like all children, I want my way and I'm prone to tantrums when I don't get it. So I pray. I may be mad. I may be asking why. I may be questioning. But I pray. I talk. I yell. I cry. And God hears all of it, and sends back the answer and maybe I like it, maybe I don't. But I keep the conversation going. And when I have nothing to fight, nothing physical to do, maybe I'll clean the kitchen instead.
Maybe I'll stand there attacking a stubborn spot and asking why can't I do more, and maybe the answer is because I've done all I can with my limited means, and the rest of it is a job for somebody bigger, and older, and wiser than me.
I give my son that answer a lot. You aren't old enough. You aren't ready to do that. You've done what you can. He's a tough kid. I'm a tough kid. Being a tough kid doesn't always mean that there's something you need to do. Sometimes it means that you have to be strong enough to let it go. To accept that what you want isn't what is going to happen. Not my will. Not my way. I still don't like it. But I'm working on accepting it.
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