Shadows

From Healing After Loss, Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief, Martha Whitmore Hickman:

Each substance of grief hath twenty shadows - William Shakespeare

"They are everywhere-the reminders of our loss.  They richochet off one another, fill the empty spaces of our lives.  My granddaughter comes to visit.  She is just the age - two and a half - my daughter was when she was flower girl in my sister's wedding.  I have saved the dress.  It fits my dark-haired granddaughter as it fit my dark-haired daughter.  My granddaughter tries it on, turns this way and that in front of the mirror.  "I like it," she says.  It is hers.
My daughter lived more than a dozen years after she wore that dress.  And yet ...the dress calls back not only the delight we all took in that wedding, but the death years later of the one who wore the dress.
Later in the visit, I read to this small, wonderful child a story that had been a favorite of my daughter's.  Behind my voice I hear my daughter's voice at two and a half, anticipating the words as we turned each page.  The reminder is a shadow.  It is also sunlight - wonderful, life-giving sunlight - that this precious child who my daughter never saw delights in her dress and in her storybook, and that I am a bridge between these two." (May 10th)

There is no shadow without sunlight behind it. - Martha Whitmore Hickman

I like these thoughts shared here.  Shadows, sunlight ...no sunlight, no shadow.  They go together, much like joy and sorrow.  We can choose the sunlight ...or the shadow ..the joy ...or the suffering.  Most of us tend toward one or the other.  It's a choice to bend towards the one holding promise, not an easy choice, but it is our choice.
Slowly, I see the sunlight emerge from the shadows that have hovered and lurked.  It hasn't been all shadows, which I am so grateful for, but its only natural with the loss of Phoebe that plenty would find there way and settle, making the rays of sun difficult to see.  Slowly, like the dawning of day, small streams of sun weave their way into our  home, our rhythm.  And I see that as this happens ...the bursts of sorrow, anger are sharper, more sudden, fleeting, not lingering ...as if the bud, full and ready to burst, will bring forth the blooms of flowers.  Are we blooming again?  I hope ...and I think, yes.  The shadows pull us back, but we are reaching for the sun.
I can see the blooming trees and wonder how they bloom while my daughter is dead ...or I can fancy my barefoot girl dancing among the blossoms ..enjoying them beyond what I could ever imagine.  And I can smile into the sunlight ...and for today, I will.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace. Amen.