Church is Hard

It's Sunday Morning. I'm teaching the young womens group about Testimony today and I just don't want to go. I will, just like I went last week and the week before and every week for the past year and a half when all I've wanted to do is fade away and never set foot in that building again.

I didn't realize when we held Chase's funeral there because it was so much bigger and nicer than the funeral home, that every time I walked into the chapel I would still see the flowers and his coffin there. I didn't know I'd never be able to sit in the RS room without thinking about how his viewing was right there in the spot rows of folding chairs are now set out. Women chat among themselves in the same spot where my dead child's body was laid out. It's surreal. I see my children look at their brother for the last time, afraid to approach too close. I see too many things.

Church is painful. Even with the time that has passed, it's painful. Guess you can't put a time limit on grief. I don't want to go. I don't want to teach. But I will and hope for the day that we move and I can walk into a different church building without any memories...