A Wish and a Light
My wise and ever so kind teenage nephew sent me this text after Joseph died:
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
When reading books on grief, several questions are almost always discussed. Why me? Why this? Why now? We spend so much of our lives grasping for more glimpses of the whys, hoping to cling to something that would or could almost make our suffering worth it. But the whys of the world aren’t for us to decide.
We can wish everyday that our circumstances be different. That the covid pandemic never happened in our time. That our loss, our divorce, our sickness, our pain, whatever it be, never happened. But in more ways than one, it’s simply not for us to decide.
As I turn the corner this week, I find myself staring down the one year mark of Joseph’s death. I am grateful that I do not have to relive the worst day of my life over and over again in real time. Today’s struggles won’t be the same as tomorrow’s and that is a relief. But I’ll never be without those memories of him and the painful experiences that have made me the me I am today.
Over the last year my kids and I have experienced a lot of change. But the one thing that has not changed is how grief just sneaks up on you.
I was driving my three oldest kids to the store, singing along to a song and my son looks at me and says “Mom, sometimes I cry myself to sleep at night”.
I was planning my 4yr old’s Spiderman themed birthday and the day before he says “Mom, do you think Dad will remember to come?”
I was sitting at an intersection (pictured above) on my way home and across the road I see him. Same build, same gear, same bag, same bike.
I could get swallowed whole in these moments. They are hard, they hurt and I wish I didn’t have to experience them. But in each and every dark moment or day, I have been reminded that there is and will always be hope.
A year ago I would cry at every sunset. To me they symbolized, the end of things, of Joseph saying goodbye and it hurt every time I would watch one. People said you should feel peace when you saw the sun set. But I did not. Instead, for the first time in my life, I became more fascinated with a sunrise, when every nook and cranny starts to fill with light, as opposed to the light being taken away. Somewhere on this year long journey, the sun started to rise again in my life. Looking through pictures of me and my kids, I can see it. Swollen eyes aren’t quite so big, smiles seem a little more genuine, and then before I even realized it, the sun was up again.
I’ve thought often that the same sun that rose and set for Jesus, rises and sets for me. It takes very little to believe the sun will rise after it sets each night. So should be my faith and hope in the Almighty. When I wake each morning I can surely believe He is still there. Steady, powerful and unyielding.
