The more I think about this, the more angry it makes me. 

I have always, through everything I've been through, always been very careful to try and not to complain against God. I suffered loss after loss, tragedy after tragedy, heartbreak after heartbreak, and I always said, "God is Just. God is Good. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." When I got the news that my daughter had died, I fell to my knees and praised him, and surrendered it all, surrendered her, to him. But now I have finally reached that place which Job reached at the end of his trial: I will pour out my complaint before the Lord.

I suffered for all those years, holding on for his answer, believing that he would answer, believing that good was coming. But when it did come, I wasn't able to immediately take hold of it, because it came in a different form than I had been expecting. But I recognized that that might be the case, and I opened myself up to it, only asking that he would make it clear to me that this in fact was his answer, and not something that would take me on a path away from his plan. That's all I asked--just help me to see if this is it. And change my heart: incline it toward her like you did the other before.

I didn't get that answer--either yes, this is it, or no, it is not, so I said, Well, I will embrace this and walk this path he has laid before me. I will embrace this good, only holding off on making it final and irreversible until I have more clarity. I did my best, and it was going very well, and I was moving in that direction. But then I was knocked into a waking coma, and lost the ability to function. 

When I look back now on the last year and a half, it is as if I have been asleep; walking in a dream, detached from reality. Or under the influence of some powerful drug--perceptions skewed, senses clouded, judgment altered. And I am just now waking up. And so, just now that I am waking up, I finally have that clarity that I asked for--but it came too late. 

I look back on that time, when I first met her, those sweet, wonderful months we shared, and how I was then...active, hopeful, passionate, determined, decisive, even joyful; and then compare it to how I was in the months after she came back, after Adina, it's like the difference between life and death. How was I supposed to be able to find my way in a new relationship in that state? 

Yes, I took too long. I hurt and offended her by not being able to choose her immediately and completely. But how was I supposed to, when I was in a state of shock? How was I supposed to be able to see clearly through all that darkness? How was I supposed to be able to make the right choices, when I couldn't think straight? How was I supposed to know which way is up or down in a universe where gravity doesn't work anymore? How was I supposed to sort my heart out when it was shattered into a billion pieces?

The whole thing--selling the house, going on the road, finding a new place to live, all of that--was about making a change. About breaking out of the pit I'd been trapped in for so long. And I was positive about it. Especially after I met her. I began to come alive again. And I had just started to wake up; just started to take my first faltering steps, and BLAM, I'm knocked flat on my ass again. 

I know I was nothing when we were traveling. I know I was nowhere. I know it felt like I was dead. That's only because I was. Only I didn't even realize it myself, just how bad it was. You can't see it when you're in it.

But the worst part is that now I am seeing it. Now I'm wishing more than anything else that I could go back and do that part again. But of course, I can't. But I really couldn't do any better at the time. I was just unable.

If I made a mistake, it was in trying too hard to seek God, to find his will, rather than just doing the thing that was in front of me. But isn't there some grace that will cover me when I'm trying my best to do what's right, even if I'm getting it wrong? 

Where is the justice in all this? Where is the good? Where is God?

I know this can't be true, but I feel like I trusted God, and he failed me. I feel like I gave up everything for him--everything, and got nothing in return. Like I gambled on God and lost.