Guilt: night 1
It's nearly 2am and I'm still awake. I purposed myself to go to bed early and yet I just lay there wondering what he's going through. I'm laying in my comfortable bedroom, under my quilt. He's in a huge dorm-style homeless shelter. I know the trouble he has sleeping, the way he snores and the way he tosses and turns from back pain; I wonder if those sleeping near him are patient with him or if they're giving him grief about the disturbance. I hope he's not afraid or even too depressed.
At this very moment in time, every part inside of me hurts for him and I feel so guilty. I don't know how to help him though, short of letting him come home--and I know that's not the answer. I'm sure I'll be stronger tomorrow when he does the next infuriating thing. All I can do is keep praying for him. God is the only one capable of fixing this and frankly, I'm sure he'd like me and my pain out of his way while he does it. Isn't it funny how the night can make you soft and vulnerable in a way that daylight never will?
At this very moment in time, every part inside of me hurts for him and I feel so guilty. I don't know how to help him though, short of letting him come home--and I know that's not the answer. I'm sure I'll be stronger tomorrow when he does the next infuriating thing. All I can do is keep praying for him. God is the only one capable of fixing this and frankly, I'm sure he'd like me and my pain out of his way while he does it. Isn't it funny how the night can make you soft and vulnerable in a way that daylight never will?
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