The Seasons of Grieving and Healing

I hear the comforting end-of-summer sounds. The chick-a-dee calling, the crickets chirping, the hum of the lawn mower down the street. I watch the goldfinch sipping water from the bird bath, the ruby-throated shimmering-green hummingbird draw sweet nectar from the hummingbird feeder, and my salt-and-pepper colored puppy running in circles around my backyard. At the nearby bird feeder, red cardinals, black-and-white woodpeckers with red caps, and grey mourning doves gather. All is well. I feel a deep peace blooming within me.

It was not always this way. For almost two decades when the strength of the sun waned, when the daylight hours lessened, and when cool air wafted through my bedroom window at night, I fell into the time of my greatest despair. I viscerally felt sorrow wrapping its arms around me as I remembered my daughter Elizabeth’s funeral in early September.

How did I travel the thousands of miles from the land of grieving to the land of living a life with promise and purpose? Slowly, ever so slowly. And if you had asked me twenty years ago if this would be possible, I would have said, ‘No way!’

I was carried over the rugged terrain by the abiding love of my family, close friends, and my community. As I traveled down the long path of grieving and healing my counselor’s wisdom guided me. Long walks by the sea and along woodland trails eased my pain. Returning to work and being with colleagues made me feel a vital part of a team. The raw edges of grief no longer jabbed into me, and I began to heal.

Now on mild summer nights when I gaze at a thicket of stars shimmering on a cloudless night, a new feeling stirs within me. I feel grateful to see this beauty. And when I watch the antics of my young grandchildren, I feel joy. When I volunteer in a pediatric hospital and encourage patients and their parents to try expressive writing to help ease their pain, I feel a new sense of purpose.

I know that I will always be filled with longing wishing that Elizabeth never died so young. And, I know that she would have rejoiced that her once grief-stricken mother has embraced life again.

Faith WilcoxComment