I was so adored. So valued and treasured by him. In the past week, friends have sent me pictures of us together. He is always staring at me. I might be laughing at something across the room, and he is gazing at me. He was enamored by me. In half of our photos together you can't even see his face, because he is kissing my head. AHHHH. How could he not be in my life anymore? He was so excited about what we were building together. A life full of hope. A life in which nothing was "bad" because we were growing ever closer together and ever more in love with and in knowledge of Jesus. He saw us as two strong, individual trees, who were twisting and growing together in a way that our collective branches could spread out far in either direction and provide shade and comfort for many. So, he would become empowered in the areas I was gifted in, and I would even have influence in the realms in which he had influence. Well. What the heck does that mean now? I was a sign to him of God's goodness in his life, so he always said. What is my life without him? I feel I'm spinning, trying to find my balance, trying to find my way without him. Life was so shimmery and full of hope and endless possibility. Now, it feels so dull. What I am without him? I could cry endlessly, it feels.

Once again I stand in front of the sink, crying into the dishes. I invite Jesus to come and comfort me. I don't even know if I like Jesus right now. I don't even feel like I believe Him. Come, Jesus. And I remember all the times that Jesus comforted my heart before that tall, strong, skinny man held me in his arms. I remember goodness. I remember comfort. I remember friendships and friends that helped me walk when it was difficult. I remember sisters and mothers in the middle of depression. I remember dark days, and bright moments. I remember Jesus' arms. "I was with you before HIM." Jesus, comfort me. Jesus brought goodness to me. He can bring it again. And it may never be the arms of a sweet, strong man again, but there will be good days again. There will be comfort when I sleep, when I shower, when I walk. There will be Jesus with me. But I miss Trevor Ryan Floyd with my entire being. I don't want to loose how adored I WAS when he was in the room with me. I don't ever want to loose the Anna that I have become. I want to become that "loved Anna" more fully.

I can either loose sight of everything I have believed about God: I can say that He is not good, that He does not see, that He does not intervene and care, that He is not real. Or, I can believe with every ounce of strength inside of me. That massive effort of heartache to say in my heart that I still believe Papa God is good. That He cares. That He is writing a story with our lives. It is the heaviest thing to muster - this belief. I feel like a crazy person still believing. My training in western medicine, rooted in good science, says that Trevor should still be alive. That I should have saved him. That a few surgeries would have and could have saved his big, beautiful heart. I have been so angry at myself for not simply MAKING him see the cardiologist, mad at him for not getting a clue when he felt chest pressure that he thought was emotional/that he said he got when God was working on his heart. I've been so mad at GOD for not clueing us in. I know we were dense, but if God speaks, could he not have suggested a little heart workup?! Or, here's where the crazy comes in: I can believe that He is still - somehow- GOOD. That He knew, and He is still good. That my days of goodness are not over. That the kids' shot at a good life is not gone. That a beautiful story is being written, and that somehow, we are both still reaching out wide with our branches, in our own ways bearing fruit and bringing shade. Still. I know it's crazy. I know.

I know.

11.27.17