Trapped

I tried to write last night. 
But the words would not come.
Tears, yes, but not coherent thoughts.

Restful sleep was elusive as well, but when I got up this morning I was determined. I had a plan, an agenda of tasks to accomplish. First, breakfast, then clean the church. By afternoon it was going to be in the mid fifties so I would be able to spend some time in the backyard. Shower after I was done working and spend the evening with friends because I knew I didn't need to be home alone tonight.

Oatmeal or eggs and yogurt was the hardest decision I planned on making.

I got the saucepan out of the lazy susan, measured the water and oats and put it on the stove to cook. I realize now that's when I first heard the beast stir, but at the time I didn't pay attention. I walked into the family room to set my phone on the couch where I have my time with Jesus every morning while I finished cooking breakfast. I was startled by a sudden, awful racket coming from the kitchen. I wasn't running the dishwasher so I knew it wasn't something loose being tossed by streams of water and I was baffled. 

What could it be? I walked back toward the stove to stir my oatmeal and listened. As I isolated where the disturbance was coming from, I knew exactly what the source was. I wanted to pretend it wasn't what I suspected. I wanted to ignore it. But it was impossible to do so and have any rest so I opened the cupboard door under the sink and breathed a sigh of relief and consternation, no mouse in the trap.  

Then I heard a noise I have never heard  before and would really rather not hear again. Unfortunately it was coming from the deep recesses of said cupboard so I began gingerly removing items, hesitantly, one by one. When the large mixing bowls came off of the shelf I could clearly see into the back corner and the source of the new noise that I could now identify. A dark blob. A moving blob. With a slender tail. A mouse. Caught in trap I had forgotten about, alternately dragging the trap, pausing only to gnaw (the awful new noise) at a body part trying to free itself. I shuddered. I considered closing the door and going on with my day. Taking care of a mouse that is still moving is not on my top ten list of favorite things to do at anytime of day, especially before breakfast. But there was no way I would be able to sit comfortably with what I had seen and continued to hear.

I thought about calling someone. But who? My guys who take care of mice in my house have all moved away from Grayson. I remembered the long tongs my son in law David used when he took care of mice for me. I retrieved them from their storage place and used them to try and grab onto the trap. I couldn't get a good grip on the trap and dropping that mouse in the middle of my kitchen floor was NOT an option so I did the only thing left to do. I used them to grab it's tail. And I carried it outside, walking in my bare feet, and considered letting it loose in the grass beside the car. But I quickly discarded that option when I thought about the possibility that it might make its way back into the house. I continued my trek down the driveway, crossed the street to the dumpster behind the art gallery and contemplated my options: 
It was safe to squeeze the plastic trap and release the mouse or
I could toss the trap and mouse both in the trash.
I am a frugal person so I squeezed the trap. And the mouse hung on. It was stuck. I promptly dropped the trap, knowing I can replace it for a couple of dollars, closed the dumpster flap and made my way back to the house.

As I sat on the couch eating my oatmeal, thinking about the noises and the mess, and the extra work that comes along with cleaning after such a find, I realized that last night I was fighting another beast. Grief. And trying to ignore or pretend the gnawing and thrashing of my heart and thoughts wasn't there hadn't gotten me anywhere good. I was trapped and there was a mess that needed to be cleaned up.

My plans for the day changed.

Choosing to trust.
Choosing to walk by faith.
Choosing to do what is right.
Choosing life over existence.
Choosing to grieve in a healthy way.
Choosing to acknowledge, process and accept/"own" my emotions.
I had forgotten how tedious and exhausting grief can be.