This weekend did not go quite as planned.
We had planned to have a garage sale on Saturday, participating in the all-city garage sale day. We'd been (OK, I'd been) counting on this day for several months. We had signs, money to make change, all our wares neatly arranged on borrowed folding tables, everything priced to sell.
We started out at 8 am. While J went to get us breakfast at Caribou (he read my mind!) I cheerily made our first (and what would become our only) sale of $1.
At about 10:30, the sky got seriously ominous looking. "This wasn't in the forecast!" I insisted. Indeed, the current weather still said nothing about rain. We nudged our tables closer to the garage and prepared for a mad dash. And then it started raining, and HAILING. We quickly carried everything back inside, shut the garage door, and went inside. It rained for several more hours, enough to effectively cancel our garage sale.
We decided to try again next weekend. We will have another sale. No big deal. Seriously, I mean it's disappointing, but it's just a garage sale, right? And yet as I told myself these things, I began to cry. Fully aware at the ridiculousness of crying about a failed garage sale, of all things. But at the same time I knew that it wasn't really about the garage sale.
Disappointment has been a prevailing emotion since we lost the boys. To put it bluntly, I am used to things working out or me. I don't say that like I'm so awesome, but I am not used to failure. I am not used to plans failing so catastrophically. Losing the boys was by far the biggest disappointment of my life. And ever since that, any time plans fall through it hits me extra hard. It takes me right back to the largest failure of my entire life: failing to "follow through" and complete my pregnancy, ending with two healthy little boys. Now, every little disappointment only reminds me of that.
Something else that contributed to my disproportionate response is that is takes so darn much energy to get excited about anything lately. I was exhausted by the task, by trying to psych myself up for it, and by the let-down of all that energy going to waste.
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Also this weekend, some friends of our gave birth to healthy, BIG (7 lbs each at 35 weeks!!) twin girls. I am happy for them. But I cannot talk about it, or say more than that. I am really, truly happy for them, I am. But it just hurts way too much to think about it. I'm taking the week off from Facebook, so I can miss the congratulating, well-wishing, and photos. I really feel like a big jerk. And yet so helpless to feel any other way. Ugh.
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So, the weekend was hard. There were other things, but I've whined enough to give you an idea.
On the plus side, we heard a great sermon on Sunday about suffering, and the Good News amidst it all. Our church has gone through a LOT of stuff over the last couple of years. Lots of births, deaths, medical diagnoses, cancer, job loss, etc, etc, etc. In fact, our pastor had a list (without names, of course) of some events we've gone through as a body, and it was pretty amazing to see. The whole point was that life is hard, but we have hope. I am trying to hang onto that truth this week.
In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.
—John 16:33
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