Because some things come upon you in such a way that you lose your footing, you lose yourself for a moment—maybe even a year or two. There is nothing so temporary as being sure of what is true. Life will smack you upside the head each and every time you believe you know best. All we can do is surrender to not knowing a damn thing. Do our best. Be teachable. Be kind.
It had been a tough year: a year filled with loss and hopeless love, of facing terrible emotions, and letting go. I held her with my thoughts just then, knowing she’d shrink from any physical touch. That cringing pain of wanting to be embraced and wanting to be left alone was torture. I knew it well.
We sat close but apart on her old wicker furniture. The enclosed porch was chilled. A lone space heater ran in vain, but she loved it out here. A light dusting of snow covered the suburban lawn. We wore thick sweaters and crocheted blankets—hot mugs of tea in our hands.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “We can do whatever you want. We can do nothing at all. We can just sit and feel.” I sat down beside her, watched her nod wordlessly. “Or we can do everything. We can just stay busy and distract ourselves from all of this crap that just won’t leave.”
She smiled weakly. “I don’t want him to leave.”
It was always walking on thin ice, but I put those thoughts aside. While I never ever wanted to hurt her, holding back and pretending she hadn’t just endured the unimaginable seemed shallow and careless. She knew me. If she wanted to pretend about things, I was the last person she would have called.
“He won’t ever leave you,” I replied with conviction.
She blinked against the winter vista. “So many Decembers… I can’t do it. I can’t face it, Danielle.”
Of course she could and she would. All the things she had already done, all the calls she had to make, all the brave faces, all the kind deflections of sympathy and offered help—she was a woman of strength learning her limits, flailing at times in the heavy haze of grief, but never failing. Watching her made me want to weep but then wake up. She honored the love but never wallowed. We, all of us, handle these things differently—beautifully.
“Something about the holidays,” I said softly. “So much pressure to feel happy and blessed. As if memories could keep us warm. As if a change isn’t just so painful sometimes.”
My friend lowered her head and took a deep breath. “I know I’m blessed. I got to love with everything I had. We had that. We did that.”
“Yes,” I agreed. They did that.
She wiped at her eyes and my heart ached. I wanted to cradle her in light. I wanted to take some of her pain.
“Do me a favour?” she asked in a small voice.
“Anything,” I replied.
“Say a prayer?”
This I could do. I breathed gently in and closed my eyes. Turning my thoughts to God, I let go. Shutting off the noise of the world, I stepped aside. I asked for the words that would comfort her and the intention that would help us both.
“Dear God,
This is hard. We feel the blessings, but we also feel the hurt. There are people we miss and the days ahead seem bleak. We long for what we had and at the same time we know it is not possible. We ache at the thought of Christmas trees and stockings, of New Years Eve kisses and resolutions. The weight of it is too heavy right now. Should we be happy even though that emotion feels just too far out of reach right now? We know your love can help. We are willing to see this differently.
May light overcome the dark. May the spirit of the season take hold in our hearts. May our present moments be peaceful. May we have the space to honor the past and yet make room for a love-filled future. May we be unafraid to feel, certain that You hold us. May we be open to compassionate people, knowing you have sent them for us.
And may we remember that in your Love, we shall find everything we need.
We are lit from within, made whole by Your Peace and never, ever alone.
And with our prayer, we thank You.
Amen.”
My friend was looking down at the cold tile floor. “Thanks,” she said.
I nodded and scratched at my knee only to find a tiny white feather embedded in the fabric of my thick, black tights. Smiling, I handed it to her and placed it on her arm.
She laughed. A few tears spilled out and she threw up her hands: “He does this all the time!”
I shrugged. “You didn’t want him to leave.”
She rolled her eyes and took a long sip of tea. “It used to make me cry and now I just laugh.”
“And it’s pretty hard to be sad when you’re laughing,” I said quietly.
She shook her head in agreement. “When I can laugh I feel like I can make it through. It’s often got to sneak up on me though…take me by surprise, you know?”
“I know,” I said as I smiled and leaned back in my seat. “Your laughter is an answered prayer.”
❤️
