Sunset and Grief
I watch the sunset and I am drawn to the wonder and awe of its elegant artistry. I want to linger in its light and hold on to its beauty; to close my eyes to the gathering dark and carry it with me through the night. But eventually, I must turn and face the lengthening shadows. I must eat, sleep, and awaken in the dark before light returns.
Sometimes grief, like the fading light of day, will settle slowly in our hearts. There is the numbness of shock that allows us to gradually absorb the pain of loss -especially after the death of a loved one. And while death is one of the most intense losses we experience, we grieve so many things: lost jobs, fading friendships, missed opportunities, lost loves, broken relationships, and even youth. Many of these losses settle in our hearts slowly, unrealized at first, as we cling to the hope that whatever is gone is not completely lost – not yet. We gaze into the setting sun and cling to what has slipped below the horizon, unable to completely comprehend that what we have lost has slipped from our grip and we are unable to retrieve it – at least not as it once was and some things not at all. We want to ignore the pain, so we cling to the past, just as we cling to the day. We linger in the fading light of memories, as night falls around us. Sometimes we may not realize we are in the throes of grief until we find ourselves completely enveloped in the dark of night and we suddenly feel lost in the depths of our despair.
The Solitary Path of Grief
While grief after the death of a loved one is expected, many if not most of us, find that we’ve barely begun to experience the pain of our sorrow before the world around us resumes its steady pace. Having paused only a moment to acknowledge our loss, we feel pressured to follow the example of our companions and put the loss behind us and ‘get on with life’. So, we blindly feel our way forward. Other losses go untold, unnoticed, and buried; they remain ungrieved while we stumble through a dark night of the soul and pretend to see our way perfectly.
Grief does not come naturally to any of us, and it takes far more time than any of us want to give. We try to ignore it, we avoid it, we run from it, and we often bury it, but like night, grief still comes. Sometimes it comes long after the loss we have buried. However, to truly heal, we must grieve. When we pause and turn from the fading light and face the night, we may be surprised to find both beauty and comfort there in the dark.
Finding Peace and Beauty in Dark Places
Many years ago, when my oldest son was left brain damaged and severely handicapped as an unintended consequence of open-heart surgery, I was plunged into a season of deep grief. And while many encouraged me to be thankful Justin was still alive, almost no one knew how to help me grieve. It was a long and difficult season that lasted many years. Yet in that season, I learned to pause amid the chaos of a busy life and just breathe deeply and notice the beauty and wonder in an ordinary day. I began to call this practice pausing to praise. It was incredibly healing to my broken heart. And while this practice usually brought peace to my anxious and troubled heart, sometimes it brought tears as I allowed myself to acknowledge the pain of my loss. I didn’t know it then, but I was allowing my heart to grieve, and the tears were healing.
Winter often reminds me of grief, and I hate the long, dark, nights of winter. And yet, I have found comfort even in the bleak darkness of winter. Once when I was writing about a traumatic event in my life, I found myself overwhelmed by emotions I hadn’t been able to feel at the time of the incident. I felt a desperate need to run from the pain, and despite the cold, I found myself stepping out into the dark of winter. When I returned to my journal, I wrote the following:
In writing this, I must pause here. So, I grab the quilt at the end of my bed, throw it around my shoulders, and step out the front door. The quilt is heavy and warm and doubled it hangs almost to my ankles – almost but not quite, so I have no fear of tripping on it. The night is bitterly cold and the cement is so cold I feel the chill of it creep through my socks and skin and flesh and right into the bones of my feet and legs. I can’t linger long, so I step off the front porch and gaze up into the night sky and for a minute, I forget about the cold and the trauma.
The night sky is dark and covered with wispy clouds, but above the clouds, through floating gaps that reveal the heavens above, I can see thousands of glittering stars, gleaming in the blackness bringing light and beauty to dark places. So, I stand here in the quiet stillness of a winter night and breathe deep of crisp air. A calming peace washes over me and I am reminded that there is beauty in every season and in every place – even in dark places and cold seasons.
And just this week, I awoke with the heaviness of thoughts I had carried to bed. My heart was troubled as I sat in my dark kitchen clutching my coffee mug with both hands for warmth and comfort. As I gazed out my kitchen window, a thumbnail moon appeared to hang just inches above the Eastern sky. Its elegance was mesmerizing. And in the stillness of predawn, I could hear the distant rumble of a passing train two miles away. The beauty of that moment brought me to tears. And as I sat there staring out at the winter moon and listening to the passing train, I was reminded again of the beauty in dark places, the peaceful silence of cold seasons, and the healing power of tears.
Life is full of dark places, but I have learned that when we turn from the fading light to face the shadows, and live through the reality of night, then surprisingly, we will find ourselves facing forward to witness the glory of dawning light and the coming day. Take heart, friend, long nights do pass, and morning will dawn again on a new day.
So beautifully written. Once of the best things I have read in a long time. My brother just died on Jan. 11. The hole in my heart is immense. But God has been providing for me abundantly during this time.
Gladys, I’m so sorry about the loss of your brother. I know grief must be heavy on your heart right now. I always felt like I was somewhat forgotten after the first month or two, so I’ll be praying for you. God Bless!