strange (adj): 1. unusual or surprising in a way that is unsettling or hard to understand.
In the ever present stream-of-consciousness conversation that happens in the depths of my mind, the word "strange" has popped up quite a bit lately. As I was walking through Wal-Mart Saturday afternoon I realized this fact and let my thoughts wander to all the strange things that have been happening lately. Then, I felt the need to write.
For starters, I was a "single" woman over the weekend - no husband, no child - and could not shake how odd it felt. With both boys off on their own weekend adventures, I had every square foot of the house to myself and had no idea what to do about it. I slept nine solid hours on Friday night, without the slightest interruption from Jeramie's snores or Ethan's middle-of-the-night bed stealing, and had no one expecting breakfast when they woke up in morning. I took my time running errands and going to the gym (more on that in a minute), only keeping in mind my "schedule" for the day. For 48 hours I was just Joye, doing what I wanted and when I wanted to do it. It was bizarre and refreshing and strangely familiar, but I'm very thankful to have these two home safe and sound.
|Thankful for laughter.|
So, onto the gym thing. Sometime last week I decided I was done with the jelly-belly. Gaining weight, along with the public knowledge that we're trying for #2 (now it's officially public), is not a great combination. I've gotten more questioning glances lately than I want to admit and if I was brave enough to wear a shirt that screams, "I'M NOT PREGNANT!" I would. I've struggled with my weight since I was in elementary school but, in spite of that, have felt surprisingly healthy during certain phases of my life. My goal is not to be a size 4, but to look and feel healthy. I've worked out four times in the past week and if that's not the definition of strange, I don't know what is! But, here's the thing. I already feel better and I've lost a couple pounds in the process. And, I'm kind of in love Zumba (and the jacuzzi treat afterwards).
By far the strangest (read: hardest to understand) thing lately is Michael's "presence" over the past week. Don't worry, I'm not going to go all reincarnation on y'all, but every few months I find myself really struggling with his death. Last week, after dropping Ethan off with my parents, I stopped by his grave site. I hadn't been there in a while and I found myself making the same silly, desperate plea to God, "Just give me a sign that he's OK." I don't know what I expect that to look like, but the hardest thing for me to accept about Michael's death is that I have no idea where he stood with Christ. So, I've begged God to shed some light on that for me. I don't know if I'll ever get an answer, but it always seems that after I've hit the bottom of the sadness barrel I'm given glimpses of him - his twin in a bar last Saturday night, with the same smile and eyes; his cologne on nearly every man in Wal-Mart Saturday afternoon. Those things still evoke sadness from my core but, almost two years later, I can smile about him every now and then and remember the profound effect he had on my life.
|Thankful for Michael.|
Is that strange enough for a Monday morning?