The sun streams in the window. It is morning just as it has been every morning my entire life long…and yet it is not. The innocent moment of blissful forgetfulness is fleeting as the crushing weight of what has happened finds its place on my waking shoulders. I rise and shake them in preparation for a day that is like every other, even though it isn’t. I zombie walk through routines that seem banal in the aftermath, but who am I to feel this way? I am not Judas’ Jesus, just one of the eleven too stunned to understand the betrayer’s kiss. I keep moving because necessity compels me to.

It works for an hour of mind-consuming task. Ask me then and I will tell you: I feel fine. One thought later and I will say: This isn’t really happening to us. I convince myself there must be some mistake, some mis-remembered fact that will prove, in time, to have been a terrible misunderstanding. I have known this person for most of my life. This is out of character.

How could I have been so wrong?

But there has been no mistake— his words tell me so. Confession, not rumour. Confession after denial, after denial, after denial, after denial, after denial. Confession. Freely given. I am thankful for that. A confession is a gift.

And how can I deny what he has confessed with his own mouth?

It makes me angry. I have a thousand questions that beg for answers:When? Where? Why? How? Why? How? Why? One confession—a thousand unanswered questions—and anger, anger that makes me cry. I wish there was someone to blame, some scapegoat to be sent into the wilderness with all this pent up fury and grief and sadness and turmoil on his bovid head. But there is nothing I can do. No. thing. to. do. but grieve.

They say that movement from denial to anger is progress…and it is enough progress for today. I will retire now to sleep a restless sleep, to dream of broken pieces and bleeding wounds—dreams more vivid than the straying focus and too-short concentration that plague my daylight hours—while my stomach rumbles, not from food it cannot digest, but a truth that it will not.

4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Carol Boehm
    Sep 23, 2011 @ 15:00:20

    Thanks Ari for yor wordsThanks Ari you
    U say it so well!



  2. Kate Swaffer
    Sep 23, 2011 @ 08:24:19

    My words will not change your pain and grief, nor are they likely to provide a salve for your healing… just know that my heart and love, and the strength I have gained from my own suffering is there for you to lean on my new friend. xxxx



    • ariannecoad
      Sep 23, 2011 @ 13:52:16

      Thanks Kate! As strange as it sounds, I feel incredible strength in this time because I know that one man’s fallibility does not change the solidity of the truth that I believe in…and that this is all just a journey to be made. I appreciate having an encouraging friend to cheer me along the road! : ) Bless you!



      • Kaye
        Sep 23, 2011 @ 20:13:48

        Thanks for such heartfelt words…yes, confession is a gift…the light shines in the darkness, nothing is hidden, the healing can begin…beauty for ashes, joy in the morning…


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