Prelude to a Pit: Every Hour

**Just getting started? Head back to day 1 of Prelude to a Pit: Just Another Day to read from the beginning**

It's every weeknight at 5 pm. The tears won't stop.

Lord, where are You?

~~~

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

The clock strikes one.  Sleep eludes me for the fifth...sixth...seventh night in a row now?

I clamp my eyes closed with intense fervor, pretending that if I can't see my life as it is right now, it won't exist.

Come on, sleep.  Wash over me with your heaviness.  Fall upon me.

But the emptiness calls to me like a ghost in the night.  The memories of what was and what is slither like a snake into my ever-running mind.

If I could only stop thinking.  Stop.  Stop. Stop it.

My pillow drowns without rescue in a thick downpour of my tears.  Lord, I need You.  For the rest of this hour, I need You.

I had learned that taking things day by day was not enough.  It was now hour by hour, minute by minute that I had to ask the Lord for His strength, for another breath, the will to move my jaws and swallow what tiny morsel of food that was forced in front of me.

Did I drink water today?  I can't remember.

Lord, I need You.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

The clock strikes three.  The hour I dread most is drawing near.  I pray for the clock to slow down because I'm running out of time.  There's not enough time.  I'm losing.  I'm drowning.

A chill in the house comes over me.  I yank a sweater over my head.  It doesn't catch on my hand like it used to.

It's baggy.  My bones are showing themselves, proclaiming to the world my misery.

Lord, I need You.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

The clock strikes five.

It's here again.  I breathe fast and realize the need for escape.  Harlow smiles at me with macaroni and cheese painted artistically across her soft cheeks.  She smiles at me and says, "Mommy," because she sees the sadness in my eyes.

She knows.  How does she know?  She's too little.  How could she understand?  How will I tell her?

But she's seen Mommy cry more than I care to admit because I just can't--I can't--as hard as I've tried, I can't hold the tears in until she's sleeping peacefully in her room.

And the tears drip apologetically down my face as I smile back at her, singing a silly song to soothe her.

I dry my eyes and wipe her face and pick her up with haste, as if we're on the run.

We are.  We run from the time.  From the significance of this hour.  Where we'll go, I'm not sure.

Lord, I need You, I whisper.  I need You for this hour.

And the next.

Every hour, Lord.

Every hour.

**Tune in tomorrow night at 7 pm for day 5 of Prelude to a Pit: Here Comes Goodbye**