I Don't Get It...

Saturday morning, grief showed up out of nowhere, and I just don't get it... So I am writing to help process.

Let me back up a bit.  A few weeks ago I signed up for the Citizen's Academy class put on by the Sparta Police Department.  This was a stretch for me because I was signing up for an extended commitment by myself...strange people, strange place. I often wonder if Kevin would have joined the class with me if he were still alive. Although it hasn't really presented an opportunity to meet new people, the sessions so far have been interesting. If given the chance to sign up for a similar class in your area, I would recommend it.

On Saturday, the focus of our session was the shooting range.  We would have an opportunity to shoot a pistol (an officer's service weapon), a rifle, and a type of assault rifle.  You can tell my knowledge of guns is shining through. I don't believe I have really even held a gun before much less shot one.  I never even shot our BB gun. Kevin hunted.  The kids both took hunter's safety courses and have hunted.  I just never had an interest.

To say I was nervous was a bit of an understatement.  As usual, I was beginning to make a mountain out of a mole hill.  I didn't know what to expect, and I didn't want to screw up (or heaven forbid someone get hurt).

As I drove myself from the Police Department to the shooting range, I could start to feel my emotions over take me.  Why was I getting teary eyed? I contemplated just turning around and going home.  But I wanted to say, "I did that" instead of being a quitter.

As the officers finished the final setup and gave an overview of their weapons and gear, I tried hard to take it all in.  Of course, this was all second nature to them so they went really fast and no one had any questions.  The rest of the group seemed pretty excited for the adventure.  As the "eyes and ears" (protective eye wear and ear wear) were being distributed, I said quietly to the officer in charge, "I've never even held a gun before and I'm really nervous."  He was super supportive and said the officers would help and "don't do anything you are not comfortable with."

As we moved toward the shooting area, one of the ladies said, "Are you nervous?"  I must have had a blinking sign on my forehead.  "Yeah," I replied with a shaky voice. And the tears started for no reason and I had to walk away.  What was the big deal?  Why was I over reacting?

As we broke into groups, I was hoping to go with the other females but that would have made the groups too uneven.  Three of us wandered over to the pistol area.  As the other two in my group received instructions and shot, I tried hard to pick up on everything being taught (not an easy task when wearing noise cancelling headphones and other guns were going off).

When it was my turn, I repeated to this officer that I had never held a gun before.  He too was super helpful and patient, but I was a complete basket case.  Yes, I was nervous, but my reactions (tears and shaking) were over the top and ridiculous.  The officer loaded the magazine for me (like he did the others), but he also pulled the slide back too (something the rest did on their own).  I asked how bad the kick would be. He said there would be some, but not bad.  He was right. I honestly tried to aim at the target, but I was shaking so much.  A co-worker gave me advice on Friday to take a deep breath before shooting to calm the nerves.  I tried...no luck.  Every time I took a deep breath, the officer would say, "You're doing fine." Really?? Maybe he was trying to convince himself.  Because we were sharing a target, I don't have a clue if I even hit the target.  I didn't empty the magazine; the officer finished it off for me.

I walked away trying to gain some composure.  The officer in charge walked me back over by the picnic tables and asked some questions.  Again, no clue why I couldn't control the tears.  I apologized; I was embarrassed. Was it because I had never asked Kevin to show me the basics? Was it because I didn't have someone to remind me "it wasn't a big deal", or better yet, "it isn't that bad"? Kevin was never really a cheerleader (his legs were too hairy for the skirt), so I wasn't likely to hear "You can do it." But he was my steady rock who reminded me when I was making a big deal out of nothing.

After getting myself together, I walked over by the rifle area.  A little piece of me wanted to try it to say I had done it.  A bigger piece of me was too chicken.  I had watched one young man take a shot and it knocked him back, so clearly it had much more of a kick. With no encouragement to try the rifle, I thought I should try the pistol again now that I had calmed down a bit.  However, when everyone was done, no one else wanted to shoot again, and I most certainly didn't want the whole group watching me.

We finished early.  Tears again as I drove out...ashamed and embarrassed.  What was wrong with me?

It still doesn't make sense. I'm not depressed.  I get up every day and go to work and lead a "normal" life. I'm not reduced to tears at the slightest emotion. But I guess grief doesn't necessarily make sense.

So with you: Now is your time of grief,  
but I will see you again and you will rejoice,
and no one will take away your joy.
John 16:22