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9. Dawn

Written Saturday, October 26, 2019 / Day 75 / Afternoon

Dawn is an interesting moment. Night with all of its darkness - only tempered by the light of the moon, when it is there to supply that light, is ending. Prior to the end of the darkness the very slight glimmers of the light of the new day appear.

Very slight at first, but just enough to begin to displace the complete darkness that has been there all night.

So it is with my grief journey.

The tumultuous return from Buffalo has unleashed several days of powerful emotional episodes for me.

Not that any of my past ones have been any less intense, but the moments in the last few days have taken on a power that has been breathtaking in their intensity.

Many elements that have surfaced in the past weeks, glimmers of ideas that I was beginning to see have come together to create a reference point.

The point has elicited some of my most intense prayer times. And these are not quiet prayer times in a closet - no these are conversations taking place out loud from my trusty swivel chair where I seem to have these sessions with God and Jesus.

They are loud and heartfelt and tearful. Usually just another day in my world of grief.

But today there is something else.

Many of these separate point have linked and created something new.

New realizations and new understandings.

Some of it I have already known - yet now with a new clarity.

The anchor of my grief logic routine - as I have called it - has been one of my mainstays. She was good with this. She is no longer suffering. God has her.

And my “argument with God” that my suffering at this time is His responsibility because He made the decision to take her. That has been an ongoing contention and in the many times I have evoked it - the next day there has been a measurable change - in a good way.

Now the argument has revealed a new element. One that had been there but difficult for me to see, embrace or accept.

He wants me here. He wants me single. He has plans for me. And it’s time for me to really see that.

And He did something else.

He lifted the weight of despair that has been crushing me.

And I have noticed.

And I know that it was His doing.

Nothing could have made that go away. It has been a constant unyielding aspect of my existence for these past months. It is like that lead blanket the dental assistant puts on you before the dental x-ray. It’s been like that.

Along with it the echos of my past life were amplified - the shared dreams we had that would never be haunting my thoughts, the artifacts that would trigger times of tears and pleadings.

All gone.

Perhaps there will be a remnant - but He took the blanket of despair off of me.

It is noticeable. It is real.

And I am so grateful. Now I’m crying for a different reason.

I’m crying as I write this.

Could it be just less grief - or perhaps a ray of joy.

A tiny one.

Just like that first light.

That tiny ray that comes just before the dawn.

Yes, I think it is that one.

I’m still a mess - all the wreckage is still around me. I’m in no shape for anything at all.

But that tiny little ray of light is shining on me right now.

It has made all the difference.

And tells me that the hope that I have seen in the distance, that hope that is now buried under the wreckage of my life - has moved just a little bit closer to me.

And along with it - the future He has in store for me.

9. Dawn

Written Saturday, October 26, 2019 / Day 75 / Afternoon

Dawn is an interesting moment. Night with all of its darkness - only tempered by the light of the moon, when it is there to supply that light, is ending. Prior to the end of the darkness the very slight glimmers of the light of the new day appear.

Very slight at first, but just enough to begin to displace the complete darkness that has been there all night.

So it is with my grief journey.

The tumultuous return from Buffalo has unleashed several days of powerful emotional episodes for me.

Not that any of my past ones have been any less intense, but the moments in the last few days have taken on a power that has been breathtaking in their intensity.

Many elements that have surfaced in the past weeks, glimmers of ideas that I was beginning to see have come together to create a reference point.

The point has elicited some of my most intense prayer times. And these are not quiet prayer times in a closet - no these are conversations taking place out loud from my trusty swivel chair where I seem to have these sessions with God and Jesus.

They are loud and heartfelt and tearful. Usually just another day in my world of grief.

But today there is something else.

Many of these separate point have linked and created something new.

New realizations and new understandings.

Some of it I have already known - yet now with a new clarity.

The anchor of my grief logic routine - as I have called it - has been one of my mainstays. She was good with this. She is no longer suffering. God has her.

And my “argument with God” that my suffering at this time is His responsibility because He made the decision to take her. That has been an ongoing contention and in the many times I have evoked it - the next day there has been a measurable change - in a good way.

Now the argument has revealed a new element. One that had been there but difficult for me to see, embrace or accept.

He wants me here. He wants me single. He has plans for me. And it’s time for me to really see that.

And He did something else.

He lifted the weight of despair that has been crushing me.

And I have noticed.

And I know that it was His doing.

Nothing could have made that go away. It has been a constant unyielding aspect of my existence for these past months. It is like that lead blanket the dental assistant puts on you before the dental x-ray. It’s been like that.

Along with it the echos of my past life were amplified - the shared dreams we had that would never be haunting my thoughts, the artifacts that would trigger times of tears and pleadings.

All gone.

Perhaps there will be a remnant - but He took the blanket of despair off of me.

It is noticeable. It is real.

And I am so grateful. Now I’m crying for a different reason.

I’m crying as I write this.

Could it be just less grief - or perhaps a ray of joy.

A tiny one.

Just like that first light.

That tiny ray that comes just before the dawn.

Yes, I think it is that one.

I’m still a mess - all the wreckage is still around me. I’m in no shape for anything at all.

But that tiny little ray of light is shining on me right now.

It has made all the difference.

And tells me that the hope that I have seen in the distance, that hope that is now buried under the wreckage of my life - has moved just a little bit closer to me.

And along with it - the future He has in store for me.

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