Hope in the Mourning

There is an image of a long dark stretch of highway that will forever live in my mind. It was like everything around me was moving in slow motion. That’s the best way I can describe how I felt the moment I got the call. The detective on the other end of the phone tried to gently deliver the grievous news. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this; your husband’s been arrested for first degree murder.” My heart sank. I was on the road driving out of state, pregnant, and traveling with my other 5 kids in the car. There was no time to break down. I asked, “Who, who was it?” The detective was silent. I knew. His silence said everything. Just a few hours earlier that day, on November 16, 2023, the Lord graciously put on my heart to leave my home with my kids. My husband had not slept in days, was suffering from paranoia, and delusions. This was not our first rodeo, I knew the signs. I asked him several times throughout the week as I noticed his behavior become more and more unstable. “Are you using again?” Days went by and he denied it. I prayed. Many times, I called out to our good Father in heaven, for strength, for protection, for wisdom, for mercy. I knew my husband was lying, I pleaded with the Lord to help me discern what I should do. Finally, my husband admitted it, he was back on meth.  I knew, as the days progressed and my husband became more agitated, when I became the object of his paranoia, we needed to leave. During my husband’s first relapse a year and a half prior to this one, I was crippled by fear and shame and suffered through navigating that