There is a Season Called Grief

There is no television. The radio is off, the birds congregating near the shoreline the only chatter we hear. Civilization seems distant from our cabin in the woods as my husband and I break from technology, escape becomes synonymous with peace.

Habits die-hard, so on the drive back to reality four days later, my husband Jeff shares the news of Robin Williams’ death that he receives via Twitter. I read the text messages on my phone. My friend’s friend died while we were gone, her second struggle with cancer ends, leaving a husband and her two young adopted children.

Jeff returns to work, texting me that while we were gone, his co-worker’s husband died after a lung transplant, unable to be weaned from the heart-lung machine.

Reconnecting with technology and friends after our arrival back home, there is good news too. There are weddings being planned, and reunions taking place. Healthy babies are being born to loving parents, and everyone in my family has been given

Twenty-four hours has given me a yet another reminder about why I do this work, why I help people to move through “the valley of dark places.” It is because I know how painful the dark is, but I also remember that the sun still shines behind the clouds.

I can attest to the fact that despair dissipates, ebbing and flowing like the waves of the lake outside our cabin. And I can help people find joy however small so that they can recognize it when it resurfaces in due time.

This entry was posted in death, Depression, Faith, Friends, Grief, grieving, growth, Healing, Inspiration, Lessons from others, Life's Losses, My story, Relationships, The Gifts of Grief, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to There is a Season Called Grief

  1. elainemansfield says:

    Thanks for this inspiring post. I learned that even in the darkest times, if I can peek out of my cave, I find love and beauty and kindness. The more I look, the more they are with me. It’s my major spiritual and psychological practice. Meditation might be noisy, I may be getting hammered by life, but I can still look for light.

    • Greet Grief says:

      Yes Elaine, I think the key is to practice looking! And you are right to say it is a practice – one of the first things I ask for in the morning is the ability to see the blessings that come even in the midst of the clouds. This is the gift I wish I could give everyone so that those who are “stuck” could see as if receiving a new pair of glasses…

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