Loss is the cloud that carries the sun. It is a frame, a flight of darkness that is meant to rise and lift, even when its weight seems to bully back the spring of earth.
Lately I cry a lot. I seem to winch up well-water from decades deep. I am my own flood.
Tears ambush me in quiet moments, catch me unawares, awkward with shower-spattered cheeks on blue-sky days breathless and bright with heat.
I am tired of owning the piece of myself that is always a little sad. I am tired of finding more, mining grief on grief, the mountain that must still be clamber-climbed when I already feel so far past gone, so totally done.
And yet the sharp shards of loss glitter, they cast rainbow prisms. When light strikes them it sets me spinning, smiling as I’m sobbing.
There is so much beauty in all that is broken – when you look at it with a squint, with the right heart, on the right day… so I keep trying for that, keep messing with the angles. I weep and wait for that magic that makes it seem almost worth the breaking all over again.
All I mourn has been my delight. The slip and stumble, the fall is also the place where I leap, launch, fly.
I can’t cry long without a thank you, a gratitude. I feel the grace of what I’ve been given, even when I’m crying because it couldn’t be kept.
In loss there is a lesson. Things all look a little different when you known they’ll be lost, they’ll one day pass into darkness and dust.
Love is always worth seizing. Life is always worth a thank you.
Tear fall can shine, touch, transform.