A Candle Lit

We live by the light of those we love, whether they are here or gone.
That light is inextinguishable.
To have the light and not the company is an adjustment process we call grief.
Loss is a shadow, equal to the light.
We adjust not to lose the shadow but to see both.
Hard to bear - yet without darkness, light cannot show its full wonder.

Let us look after each other, then, and value our days, our company, and live to leave vast shadows, and understand that pain is a strange gift, a tender, haunting, purposed gift.

And if you are grieving: let your tears flow, let your anger shout, let yourself plead and deny and feel terrible: it is not an easy process. 

Know that other people know grief. 

Know that other people are hurt to see you grieve. 

Know that love is a fundamental response.

There is no time limit to this adjustment process. No right or wrong way to feel.
One day you will stand back and see that the shadow is proof to the strength of the light, and you will be full of wonder.
That light is inextinguishable.
You can live by it.

[Picture credit: TheAttitudeOfGratitude.com]

This was written for everyone, so it's a little generic: sometimes the love and the grief are complicated, sometimes there's an issue of closure, sometimes the lost one is young and bright, sometimes the grief is for one lost in dementia. I'm aware of each of these circumstances happening to someone this winter. Christmas season is full of loving family images and the contrast with reality can be uncomfortable. Sometimes the grief that wells up is simply from this comparison. I'm not trying to dampen festivities, rather open them up, and allow us all to find understanding, acceptance, to hold on to our own light. It's not hug-the-world nonsense, it's nothing new: if we all reach out, everything changes.