God gently rid me of my fear.
Something so comforting in the abusive words, the ride of addiction, hearing his voice, the lies and knowing at least he’s still alive.
Seeing his unshaven face, thinking I can hold his heart in my hands, like his face, and make it clean and new.
He told me, “You’re not making this easy.” I wanted to explode.
And every time I see our daughter, every time I hug her and feed her and rock her and watch her sleep, I think of him, not doing those things.
And if I join my thoughts to God’s I lose sight of him, and am afraid I’m abandoning him.
Forgetting that being still is the only option, that I won’t change him, that any doing for him is doing for naught.
I want to fill the stillness.
Being alone with God is hard sometimes. It requires silence.
Silence seems useless, but when I’m in the noise, I die, over and over again with him.
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