This might seem like a strange follow-up to my last post, but in the interest of keeping it real, here it is.
WARNING: If you're offended by profanity, stop here. And if after reading this you feel the need to correct me, suggest that I change my attitude, or comment negatively, please don't do it, just don't.
I have a half written blog post from last year about whether or not it's appropriate for Christians to swear. My short answer is that words are just words and it really depends on your attitude and your audience. I don't really swear, but I don't mind if you do.
Ever since Mark died my brain has had a very hard time processing the fact that he's gone and the way he went. When I revisit the events of that day all I can do is shake my head and say, "Fuck!" The fact that he's gone is unfathomable. The only word that adequately expresses my disbelief is fuck. Sometimes I yell it alone in the car. Sometimes I repeat it in my head over and over like some kind of mantra. It's the only word I've found that can clear my head of horrible thoughts.
You might be thinking that I should have some other mantra, a more peaceful, holy mantra. I'm not there yet. I've tried saying Jesus over and over again. It's not the same. Maybe someday.
Today we celebrate that we're ten years out from John's leukemia diagnosis. This is also the day last year that Mark was diagnosed with depression. The beginning of the end. Fuck.