Wolterstorff also writes:
I have become an alien in the world, shyly touching it as if it’s not mine. I don’t belong any more. When someone leaves home, home becomes mere house.
Something is over. In the deepest levels of my existence something is finished, done. My life is divided into before and after.
— Lament for a Son, Nicholas Wolterstorff
I am unable to re-read my early postings because it’s too difficult to revisit that raw pain. Yet, I am almost positive at one time I shared my thoughts on how my husband and I mark our time in the world by before Devastation Day and after Devastation Day. That before time will always remain so sacred to us — a time when our own little world was as it should be.
By now, should I be brushing myself off in my dazed and confused state of mind and jump right back onto the merry-go-round of life? Time is marching on without me. I am frozen in a weird and horrible time zone which only other devastated grievers have visited or…
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