Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Dusty Gray: The Color of Death

Stoically she talked to him, quietly calling his name, one hand protecting his leg from crashing onto the wheelchair footrest, the other stabilizing his jerking head against the headrest.

Internally horrified, she watched as death passed over him, the shadow sneering as the seizure kept him from getting a breath, the little boy's skin turning dusty gray.

During the entire episode, she remained outwardly calm and looked as though she were just watching the clock tick. The preschool teacher who had run in a panic to get the school nurse remarked that she wished she could stay so calm.

The mom almost wishes she didn't look so calm. She realizes what her lack of immediate emotion must look like to others.

Does she even care?

Does she have a heart?

In private she allows her emotions to consume her and her heart to break - she cries, she pounds the pillow, she kicks the mattress, she begs God, she hides in her closet, she screams.

However, in public her mind often protects her heart (and surrounding onlookers) by employing a self defense mechanism that keeps her from expressing emotion and drawing too much attention to the situation. She will have an almost out of body experience where, from a distance, she watches events as if they are happening to someone else, and up close, she goes through the motions dealing with the issue like a puppet.

A puppet who saw dusty gray.


  1. Sometimes our emotions are as scary as the event itself. The long long months after my mom's aneurysm and before her passing were like that..... The whole time. I operated almost on auto pilot. People would visit in the hospital or at home and I would smile, making small talk, as if we were at a party. Then, I'd get into the shower and rant and wail at God, collapsing onto the shower floor in tears.... Then, I'd get out, dry my face, and put on the party smile again. Maybe that's why, 9 years later, I still hate the shower.... I love you, Rachel....

  2. What can I say? I wish I could hold you like I did when you cried as a child. Saying comforting things. Now as you are a grown woman, the only comforting thing I can say is that I have gone through trials as deep as death, and my Lord is faithful. He whispered, "underneath are the everlasting arms." May He carry you through the dark times. I don't understand why I suffer, much less why you and Austin do. I carry you both in my heart and mind and lift you to Jesus who loves us more than we can ever know; who awaits us in Heaven with eternal joys and rewards. I love and treasure you, Rachel, Mom