I'm sitting here with a pile of used tissues and a nearly empty tissue box, the remnants of my latest meltdown. It's been quite a while since I vented with such vehemence and anger as this morning. Yes, anger! I didn't realize until it erupted like hot lava from my very soul just how much anger and resentment was in me. Not anger at any person. In a way, it would be much easier if I had a face to go with my anger, but no. I’m angry at life, resenting what’s happened, and that there’s no way to turn back the clock to before.
I’m angry that I’m alive and she’s not. How did that happen? I’m angry that death has stolen the joy out of everything good. Even when I’m having a good time, it feels hollow. I’m angry that life is not how I imagined it to be, nor how it’s supposed to be, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. I’m angry that my future is a long strand of bleak and lonely days stretched out ahead of me.
That is the red hot lava of grief that came spewing out of me this morning and created this mound of used tissues before me. As I write metaphorically about lava, I’m reminded of lessons we can learn from nature’s metaphors. Take volcanoes, for example. Though terribly destructive in the short term, volcanoes can provide rich, fertile soil for agriculture and gems and minerals for mining in the long term. My grief, though overwhelming, ragged, and raw at times, is capable of producing significant things in my life.
Rising from the ashes is the potential for great things. My grief may try to tell me there’s no hope and I’ll never be truly happy again. But God, says, it ain’t over yet. Don’t despair. Don’t despise life as it is now. Keep putting one foot in front of the other and don't quit. There is a plan for turning devastation into good. Grasp on to hope and don't let go.
Sara Faith Nelson
Sharing the journey, because, I find there are so many others making the trek through life without a loved one