Every Wednesday

Every Wednesday I will post something about grief. Sometimes it will be a reflection on an aspect of grief’s landscape. Now and then I will share from my own journey of grief, because in the sharing of our stories we find strength and build a community of people that support one another.

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Tuesday, December 31, 2013

New Year's Eve



Journal entry 28

New Year’s Eve. Because I’m now single and all my friends are still couples, I have not received any invitations to parties. I stock up on snacks and plan to watch a football game or movie until midnight when I will blow a paper horn and go to bed.

Dumbledore told Harry Potter, when he was clinging to thoughts of his dead parents and wanted the past to come back, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

Life’s river flows black under memory’s white moon, between trees in the dark forest of fragmented dreams that inhabit this land of shadows. I will build a cabin here in this wilderness, in this unknown land, with the door facing east. Death has pared life away until only darkness and cold are left. Around a small fire that I’ve been able to keep going, I remember who I’ve been. I remember looking at the vast emptiness of the Pacific Ocean, the psalms of hope that people from my congregation wrote from the depths of their struggles, and friends who have come and comforted me after Evelyn’s death. 

I think of Turlough O’Carolan, the blind Celtic harpist, who was asked in the early 1700s why he composed songs of joy in the midst of such dark times in Ireland. He said that when it is the darkest, that is when people need to be reminded that the dawn will come and the sad times end. 


One day a door will open, and I will walk through. What will it open to?

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