Years ago, my (then) husband suffered a devastating aneurysm. He was young, healthy and vibrant; I loved him tremendously. One afternoon, we were pursuing our dreams and celebrating our five-year-old daughter, the next I was standing in intensive care, praying he would live until tomorrow. When he finally emerged from a coma, his memory and our life together, were gone. It was soul-ripping.
My friends and family, in an effort to help, lavished me with condolences and words of encouragement. They sent me books on grief recovery and desperately tried to hold my head above the waters of despair. Nothing helped, I wanted to die.
In my search for solace, I found a tiny book with a bit of wisdom so powerful I knew it was true (I’ve since passed the book on and can’t remember what it was called or who wrote it). In sum, it said:
The one thing you can count on is change.
All things change, including feelings.
You will not always feel the way you do today.
This I could believe. I wrote these words on a piece of my daughter’s Hello Kitty paper and stuck it to my bathroom door. The bathroom was the one place I could grieve freely and I did, a lot.
When the tears ceased, I always found myself staring at the paper and knowing that the blackness could not be eternal. It didn’t change my feelings, but it gave me hope.
For my beloved friends who are suffering and believing the sun will never shine again, it will. It must.