Sitting With Darkness

This has been a hard year so far – twenty-two days and twelve of them have been spent grieving.  I’m dealing with the loss of my mother-in-law, who I loved very much.  She was feisty, a fighter.  She often got scared and anxious, but she kept on fighting and living, and learning.  Now, she’s gone, and I’m trying to find my way in the wake of this darkness.  How do I walk on towards old age?  How do I live fully with joy and optimism while holding pain and anxiety at bay?  Working with children seems to do the trick, but I’ve been away from them for 10 days, and I desperately need to hear their laughter, listen to their silly stories, and recharge using some of their energy. I’ve tried reading, the thing my mother-in-law loved to do.  But the words fly through my head and don’t stick.  I try watching old movies she loved, but can’t keep my mind on those either.  Everything seems pointless, but I know that’s a very dangerous thought.  So, I keep my hands busy and start cooking.  I put on a big pot of soup, dice vegetables, steam rice, make the kitchen fill with the comforting aroma. As I wait for dinner to cook, I look out the window and appreciate nature.  The Canada geese have descended on the field outside my home, hunkering down for the coming storm.  I watch them and take some solace in their wildness. 

After dinner, I look out the window again and see only darkness.  I search for something to do and cannot keep my mind on a single thing.  The temperature has plummeted.  I turn off all the lights in my living room and stand closer to the window.  Snow begins to fall.  It falls fast and covers the ground quickly.  The pines, maples, and fence posts are laced with a thin skin of snow.  Soon everything brightens as the night is covered in snow. There is a wedge of white moon.  I look up and feel a sliver of hopefulness.  “I can get through this season,” I tell myself.  I am strong enough to sit in the darkness with this grief.  I can welcome the memories.  I can honor her.  I can do things that she would have loved. 

I wander to my laptop, open an email from a former 3^rd grade student – now an adult poet and therapist. He has sent me his post, “How to Sit with Darkness.”  I read about his recent surgery and his anxiety.  Tears come.  I don’t want this pain for him.  I remember him as a smiling, rambunctious, red-headed boy.  He is eloquent and insightful. His words embrace my thoughts.  He asks: “How would your life be different if you were just a little more okay with the dark?  Can you practice sitting in it/ being in a place of darkness?”  Yes – I can sit in this darkness.  I can let it drape over me like a blanket.  I can sink into it and not drown.  I can look up and see the snowflakes mingle with silvery stars.  I can know in my heart of hearts that this life is so short and so precious, and I don’t want to waste a minute of it.  So, I absorb this grief, this darkness, and know I will be stronger for it. I take a deep breath, watch the snow continue to fall.  In the dark, I will find my way.  I am certain of the winding path ahead, and I am determined to navigate in all seasons of darkness.