Usually when I journal darkness, I paint over the dark and turn it to light. But I want to acknowledge this darkness. Anyone would be in the dark when friends, acquaintances, relatives died. Anyone would be in the dark when there's a pandemic going on and when we can't gather with our loved ones on Thanksgiving and Christmas. When there are new baby grandchildren that this grandma can't hold and breathe in new baby smells and how much it nourishes the heart to see them?? Anyone would be grieved by all of this, if not, maybe one should be.
There's lots of good, don't get me wrong. I have a pot of soup simmering on the stove. It was supposed to be for tomorrow, a "special dinner" for Thanksgiving. But I need it today. I put on my Sharon slippers when I need reminding that friends are still there, they still love, I still love, I still appreciate.
My Sharon slippers were made by a dear friend who moved away many years ago and I have not seen since. She was one of those friends who had your back, who understood, who didn't condemn you when you weren't totally upbeat. She didn't run from my depression at the time, she admitted her own, and finding out we were going through the same medication crazies helped. Years later, I got a package in the mail, the Sharon slippers she made for me. I don't wear slippers much, but sometimes that's what I need.
Yesterday we went on a walk. I needed that. Today there's soup. Probably another walk, since it's gorgeous out. Maybe I'll eat one of those delightful candied almonds that Gary sent over. Look at the wonderful stained glass things that were made by my son, my daughter, my uncle, my father. Aunt Eunice's painting. The "Be Happy" embroidered by my mom. The rose that Mavis gave me yesterday. Look at the orchids that are STILL ALIVE in spite of my brown thumb. Look at my dear husband who does not run from my bad times, but listens. And there's Bad Cat, who is a stinker and can be mean, but if you treat her right, she will sit on your lap for five minutes.
So focus on the good. But I'm not forgetting the blob of grief in there, because if I didn't love I wouldn't grieve. I'm missing some people terribly. Marilyn. Loretta. My parents. Virginia. Ann. Erla. Edith. John M. Dennie, and the many others from where my parents lived for 17 years. Lots of days go by where I don't think of the blob at all, but other days it's there in its bigness. It's like it says, you want to grieve for S. or K. or V.??? (the ones gone within the last month) then you have to remember ALL THAT YOU LOST. Now that's not truth; I'm allowed to have just small grief. Or think of the fact that all these folks are with the Lord!!! I remember when my nephew died, all I could think was he was dancing in the streets of heaven, no more pain, no more cancer treatments... that's a pretty big crowd of the folks I knew up there. We miss them here. My heart aches for the families. For the children left behind. For the aunts and uncles and cousins. And the friends.
I miss Marilyn's laughter and encouragement, I miss Loretta's companionship and our sewing together. I miss Edith's knowing when what I needed was a cup of tea and to talk about baseball. I miss Erla's upbeat humor even when she was on oxygen and in a wheelchair and still smiled. I miss Dennie's quiet ways and how she loved my parents. I miss my birthday bunch, I'm the only one left.
BUT.... I have been blessed in my life, with these friendships, the ones I knew well and the ones who I only knew when they were helping assemble bulletins or volunteering as a receptionist or babysitting. Some that I miss aren't gone, but I never see them. I COULD send a card or make a call.... I need to remember that if I had not been so blessed with these friendships, I would not grieve. So the grief is EVIDENCE OF LOVE.
I have wonderful memories of Edith's tea, Erla's laughter, Dennie's quiet smile. I even have a vase she gave my mom. It has silk roses in it and it is beautiful. It was precious to my mother until she died.
Looking to the light doesn't mean not acknowledging the darkness. I need to look to the light in spite of the darkness, knowing that I won't always SEE the light, but that it never really goes away; but the shadows don't either. For some of us with clinical depression, it's tougher to stay out of the shadows. But sometimes when I just dive in the shadows, and really allow myself to feel them, I can also see the light more clearly. So instead of thinking of the dark as The Enemy, I can think of it as contrast; like looking at a homeless person and being reminded of how MUCH I have. Not in the sense of being better, because I know, but for the grace of God I am not in the same place.
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