"Snippet" -- a small piece or brief extract
Four weeks on this side of forever with Mama on the other side. It seems surreal. At least once a day, I've thought of calling her or stopping by to fill her in on something, only to realize that's a luxury I don't have anymore. Almost a month of wading through the waves and eddies of the grief cycle -- being dragged under, rising to the surface, treading water, swirling in a maddening whirlpool of emotion. Reliving memories, feeling guilty, wondering if we did the right thing at so many places along the journey, wondering how life would be different if we had made different decisions. Putting one foot in front of the other, crying and trying not to cry. A time of condolences and kind gestures, and of people who should care but don't seem to. It's been an interesting time, a mixed bag of emotions as grief always is. I've grieved enough to know. Yet, every grief is different and takes on a life of its own. I forget (and how blessed I am that I CAN) from one grief to the next the blinding fatigue -- getting up in the morning knowing you've slept but feeling more tired than when you went to bed. I forget how the memories creep in every crevice of your mind if you don't keep it busy with something else. I forget the heart-wrenching guilt of what-ifs and whys. I forget the utter emptiness that is grief.
Losing Mama added watching my daddy grieve as I've never seen him grieve before. I traded watching her suffer for watching him suffer. It's the worst part. As their daughter I know deeply the affection they shared. As a wife, I can imagine the empty bed, the empty house, the vast emptiness of a missing half, and feeling you'll never be whole again. Tears stream as I write how it must feel -- to be without your other half after 56 years of being together.
And, because of COVID -- and just life, there have been SOOOO many other deaths in this 4 weeks -- people I know, people who had spouses and children. It's incredibly overwhelming and at times, it has paralyzed me. My creativity has been at an all-time low -- requiring energy I do not have. Notwithstanding the state of the world or the affairs of this country I love. Trying to teach in a Pandemic with all the trappings. It has been a dark 4 weeks. Ironic at a time that is supposed to be full of light. Three major holidays of this season focus on light -- Hannukah, Christmas and Kwanzaa. And yet, this has been such a dark season for me. It is not devoid of light, however, even though it's dark.
Hope shines. In the midst of darkness, hope shines. It is a beacon. I choose to place my hope in a kingdom not of this world -- God's eternal kingdom. I have a strong faith. My parents instilled it early on. As I grew older, I made it my own. It's been tested and purified. It's waxed and waned at times, but because my faith is strong, Hope's beacon shines.
A friend who shares my faith and hope was lamenting on her own grief recently, saying she knew she shouldn't be sad, but she was. But NO! Faith and hope don't take away the sadness. The grief is the love we felt and the hole that is left. We weep and grieve, but not without HOPE. Hope is what guides us THROUGH the grief. Hope is what we have to look forward to on the other side of the grief.
The scriptures say it this way:
I've been a teacher of K-3 students for over 20 years; I'm also a writer of poems, short stories, devotionals and picture books. I'm wife to an amazing husband and mom to Sparkles, Mocha, and Rusty -- our feline fur babies . I love reading, writing, singing and listening to music. I enjoy nature, Bible study and spending time with friends and family!
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