That day, I woke up with swollen eyes as I ordered a coffee that was entirely too expensive just so I could waste time waiting. My friend, Ashley, and I, spent our morning in silence in a coffee shop. Not because we were at a loss for words, but because any sound or vowel brought hot tears to our eyes. As we sat there, attempting to drink our coffee, we waited for the news that we wished wasn’t already down in the pits of empty stomachs.
I’ve never despised a day more. The day I fell to the dirty hospital floor, begging my best friend to wake up.
But she couldn't.
She couldn’t open her perfect eyes because she was already running towards the One who spoke her into existence. Even knowing this, I’ve woken up every day since then praying that July 28th was just a horrible nightmare. However, each morning I am reminded of how badly the pain throbs. It’s the kind of pain that you don’t know how to deal with. Two months later, I am finally emerging out from underneath the heavy rock of denial. As I am coming to terms with what has has happened, it has done nothing but give me one wish: to live under that rock for the rest of my life.
Taylor is the kind of friend that parents pray for their children to have. Loyalty and determination define that red headed spark. Never believing anything was too far from her grasp, she has never allowed anyone or anything to dull her dreams or convince her that she couldn’t be what she was created to be. She laughed without fear and had a movie quote that could find its place in any moment. She was brilliant and full of wit- an individual who never met a stranger and never allowed herself to become one. Everyone’s biggest cheerleader, I think one of her purest goals in life was that each person knew just how special they were. With everything in her, she would do all that she could to remind you of your value; a true heart of the most precious gold. The glue of every group, Taylor kept everyone in contact and made sure that each visit left no room for any friendship to change. She was the friend that turned into the family I needed at the time when I wished I wasn’t in my own. Her mom quickly became Mama Witch to me and anyone else who was lucky enough to know her longer than ten minutes. Time spent with the Witcher family will do nothing but strengthen your heart and make you realize what God created family to be like. Their love and their laughter made me come back consistently all throughout high school. To this day, I still find myself over at Mama Witch’s, hoping she’ll have some great dating advice or enough Diet Coke & Lime cans to hold me over until I return. However, when I do these things now, there is a hollow silence. The biggest part of the puzzle is missing. This is what I still can’t allow myself to comprehend.
I find myself bawling at church every Sunday. Not because I am moved by the worship, humbled by His grace, or overwhelmed by His presence, but because I am so angry I don’t know how to even begin to talk to God. I don’t want to talk to Him. I don’t want to praise Him for being good all the time, because I can’t find the goodness in my overwhelming tears for Taylor. I haven’t felt ready to be happy or to find the joy in the circumstance, because that means I’m moving away from that day. Even though time is moving away from July 28th, I don’t want my heart to follow the calendar.
God willing, I will grow up. I will get married, have kids, and grow old. But Taylor will always be twenty. I still can’t let myself mourn beyond that. Every time I begin to feel like I can move forward, I am stopped dead in my tracks with those thoughts. That’s when the anger hits. The anger at a merciful God who took away the biggest spark He could have put on this earth. It’s hard for me to even listen to people declare thankfulness that she’s in a better place because the only thing my mind can do is dream about how much I need her. How much we all need her. “Praise God” isn’t what I’m thinking when I’m thinking about that day. The only words that can come to my mind or mouth are usually angry sobs to God because my anger hinders me from forming any real sentence. Why do we have to be the ones to experience this kind of pain? I have spent the last two months this way: furious at my Creator.
Tonight, ironically enough, scripture ended up comforting me- even though I have believed for two months that it would only make me want to throw my Bible at the wall. I’ve tried to let God back into this part of my heart that is filled with confusion and anger. I figured starting with scripture was the easiest step. With it, I didn’t have to tell Him how much I’m hurting; I could just read His responses.
I came across Psalms 22 verses 1 and 2.David’s words were the first words that were outside of Taylor’s close circle that I could relate to. I feel forsaken. I feel like God is distant from me, and I have never felt so alone. I feel just like David- worn out from crying with no answer from my God. So, I felt justified in my anger. If the man made in God’s likeness could cry and scream and yell at God, then so could I. However, the verse doesn’t stop there. David goes on to praise God regardless through the rest of the chapter.
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from saving me, from the words of my groaning? Oh my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest.”
“Yet you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel. In you our fathers trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them. To you they cried and were rescued; in you they trusted and were not put to shame… For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and he has not hidden his face from him, but has heard, when he cried to him.”
It’s finally hit me, even though I had no intention to let it.
God understood my screams and sobs. He understood my anger and welcomed my sadness because He hasn’t left. Even though I have tried to push Him away in my anger, He doesn’t budge. He waits patiently for me to come back and to need Him. He hopes I once again desire His comfort- ready to provide it the second I ask. You see, you and I aren’t made to carry this burden of confusion alone. The world is heavy, and life is a mess. When we try to walk with the weight of the world, we are robbing God of His glory. We are saying, “I want to carry this to the finish line so that I can get the recognition for it.” In reality, God deserves and wants to cross that finish line for us. He gets the glory in all things whether we believes He is worthy or not.
I am still healing. We are all still healing. The majority of us are only starting to entertain the idea of even beginning the process. This kind of healing is not a cut that gets better with time. It’s like losing an arm and learning to paint like Da Vinci with your opposite hand. It will never feel the same. You can never forget, and you will never fully recover; you just learn how to evolve with it. You don’t have to heal any certain way. You just learn to survive the pain and somehow allow God to intervene with the rest. We are learning to cry out to Him and let Him hold us up so that we try and withstand the next wave of emotion. Moments will become easier to live as days will slowly unveil more joy, however long it may take for those days to arrive.
I am recognizing that I am broken, emotionally exhausted, and confused. And I will probably remain this way indefinitely. We will all probably remain this way for some time. But God continues to welcome us back to Him because we were never made to endure it on our own. I don’t know why God took Taylor from the Earth. I do not think I will ever fully understand His timing, and that’s something I am going to try to live with. I am trying to be still and trust that He is God and even in this, He is still good all the time- because He is still there. I am learning that faith truly is the evidence of the things that are unseen. And I will have faith in Him, even if I only have faith smaller than a mustard seed. At least there is no rigidness for how much faith we have to put in Christ.
He just asks us to at least try.
Even though it is completely selfish for me to wish she still walked among this broken world with us, I am going to wish it every day for the rest of my life. One day, I will allow myself to be joyful in the circumstance. Someday, I will be able to join in saying “Praise You, Father, for making her whole with You.” Until then, I will cry out to Him in pain of the empty hole left in so many lives.
I can only attempt to believe my own words in this moment, but my hope is that it will get easier. Every day the sun will rise and every day the sun will set as her favorite Oklahoma painted sky. And every time I look at that sky and all of its brilliance, I know she is dancing on streets of gold in red cowboy boots and tambourine in hand. With flowers in her hair, she is dancing.
And someday, together, we will walk on streets of gold.
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