Healing the deep wound of losing my son is ongoing in my life. I find color, hope, and peace in nature. Spring brings the reawakening of all the flowers, shrubs, and trees that lay dormant over the long, cold, bitter months of winter. Each year, purple and yellow crocus emerge from their winter’s sleep, then yellow and white daffodils, and shorty thereafter, red tulips rising tall, even when cooler temperatures still prevail.
My grief, despair, and hopelessness echo the monochromatic landscape of winter–a bitter mix of gray, black, and white. But come spring, when the brilliance of sun, blue skies, and flowers seemingly appear against an impossible, immutable winter, I find hope in nature’s resilience.
The Resilience of Spring and Summer
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Matins: Reflections on Hope After Loss
And so it is I’ve arisen today, yet again–sometimes enough just as is. Always my coming to, my lying there in stillness, my awareness that I am here, that I have breath. Then attempts at prayer, gratitude, some days, impossible, but when remembered, comforting.
At first, in early grieving, the being knocked totally flat, unable to rise or find energy or wherewithal to do, go, see, hear, be anything save the shape of my heart’s grief. Slowly, years really, it took years–the rise into daylight, being able to see sky, feel the temperature, witness the seasons. . .