The fog is not lifting today.
The wet clouds push up against the trees rendering everything ghostly.
This morning, as I walked up the power line trail, I could feel my own interior fog, my throat signalling the need to cry, my eyes filling but nothing happening – that familiar kind of sadness that refuses to be released.
I thought about Kathleen and her ridiculous love of music boxes and then I remembered Kathleen’s stories of Mom’s compulsive dish drying habits (yes, you must polish each part of the hand-cranked eggbeater). Which reminded me of baking day. I can see Mom piling our dining room with all those pies and cookies and then I see Dad teaching me to hammer and build another tree fort.
Other dead people showed up, as if they were all tied together into one long line of memories.
But then, I suppose they are.
So I did the only thing I could. I sat on a rock at the top of that power line trail and welcomed it all. I have learned that pushing it away only gives it more power. I know too that the only way out of this is through it and, to go through it, I need to feel it.
I remembered one of the best lines ever written, ‘This too shall pass’.
Because you know what? It always does.
I made a little plan. I would go home and have a long bath. I would put on some upbeat Christmas carols and ditch the more melancholy ones. I promised myself that I would focus on the beauty of this season of lights and sparkle. I would think of ideas of how to spread random acts of kindness because I know I am not the only one who struggles with memories and darker moments.
I came home to our beautiful Christmas tree. I had that bath and now, as I write this, I’m watching the fog settle even heavier on the marsh outside our window.
But now I’m noticing something else. All that foggy gloom only serves to show the tree’s lights in sharper relief.
Crazy huh?
Is there anything in this world that isn’t a metaphor for something else?
The tree is my reminder that there is always the lights of hope glimmering somewhere in the darkness. Please join me in helping spread the light. Let us resolve to being kind to ourselves and to everyone we meet.
Because kindness is love in action and love lightens the burden for us all.
Merry Christmas and thank you for reading.
….. ❤️…..
Thanks, Colleen. I really needed that today, as it has been 10 months since I lost my forever friend, supporter, & husband. There does not seem to be a place in society for single women my age (other than joining a “Ladies Aid Society”), or going pub crawling; neither of which I am inclined to do. Friends we associated with as a couple are there if I need something, yet there is a missing link. Perhaps it is a time out; just to mourn.
Oh Ruby. I can’t imagine the pain of what you’re going through. It must be so hard to try to find a new way through life after all that time as a couple.
I was at a hospice workshop the other night and the speaker, a psychiatrist, reminded us that there is always hope in a new day.
Take care of yourself as you grieve this huge loss and I hope you eventually create a new path that will bring you wonderful moments of joy.
Yesterday I saw “The man who invented Christmas” about the writing of a Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. The message is clear “joy, friendship, generosity”. How true it is!
Every month I support a number of charities (9 in fact) and around this time I always sent a bonus. I know that what I do is a drop in the ocean but I also know that in a small way I have helped a person being able to sow more seeds, I have saved an animal from neglect, and so forth …. so for these creatures life has been better thanks to my little gift.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if everybody helped a creature in need. Surely the world would be a happier place.
Happy Christmas to you and Kevin.
Joy, friendship and generosity is a wonderful triad. I’m inspired by your charity support. It may be only a drop in the ocean, but like you say, if everyone did it, the world would truly be a happier place. Merry Christmas Catherine, from our home to yours.
Dearest Colleen,
Thank you for this touching post. I, too, felt an overwhelming grief descend mere days ago. December is the month I kept vigil with my Dad as he departed this world. He died on Boxing Day. Of course, there are other loss triggers, too. But that’s the one I felt most keenly.
For many years now I have had my lights and tree up by First Advent Sunday. Music, too, is part of that ritual. As Advent sometimes falls in November, the light (along with the beauty which I design and create) lifts me with its steadying presence.
The Advent candle tradition is especially wonderful. Even as a young child I adored how Mother lit each of the four candles in turn on the four Sunday Faspas (Mennonite ploughman’s style meal) before Christmas, and all four glow brightly together the Sunday before Christmas.
I no longer attach religious significance to it, but as metaphor it is one of the most powerful symbols. The northern ancients didn’t light great fires over the winter solstice for nothing. As the days grow darker I light a ritual candle in creative defiance of that darkness. One candle is all it takes. The acts of loving kindness you suggest are a splendid way to brighten your corner of the world wherever you are.
“One candle is all it takes.” Isn’t that the truth of it all summed up right there? Thank you for that.
I could see your mother lighting those candles. What a lovely ritual to keep alive.
And yes, it is creative defiance against that darkness.
Keep shining Lynda.
The sun is gloriously shining in Chilliwack, but it has been an exhausting season physically and emotionally. I just told my work partner that our new motto, for ourselves and the teenagers and parents we encounter, should be “Stop trying to do everything.” We will try to be more intentional with our inability to bear it all.
AnneLise. I’m sorry you’ve had an exhausting season and I’m really glad you have your new motto of being ‘more intentional with our inability to bear it all’. That’s genius. Hope you have some self-care downtime planned. I’m glad you had sunshine today, ours is lurking out there somewhere…