I see the sun through the evening shower
I know the sun in spite of this midnight hour
Each day it’s there, warming my heart
Even though it’s so hard to see in the dark.
I have been telling myself I won’t let myself grieve. I won’t mourn, I’ll be fine. Just keep moving, looking to the next day.
But last week was one of those weeks that just called for a lot of sorrow, mixed in with a strange type of joy.
Last week I was supposed to be seeing my friends. Hugging them, laughing with them. I was supposed to stand next to one of my favorite people as she pledged her life to her love.
But I sat in my kitchen instead, watching a screen.
There are so many things we’re all missing out on because we’re trying to stay safe. We’re trying to show Christlike love, by putting other’s health and safety before our own. And I’m so happy that I get to do that, that I get to stay home, and that I’m able to keep myself alive for years in the future.
But it’s also okay to be sad.
So many lives lost. So many memories not happening. So many people we miss. So many hugs we’ve lost. So many moments of laughter that we’re not having.
It’s okay to curl up on your bed and take a deep breath, to let the tears free. It’s okay to hurt, to wonder why. It’s okay.
But always remember that there is a sunshine behind the clouds, and a tomorrow after today. Maybe not this year, maybe not now. Maybe it’ll never be like you thought it should, but you will have something good in the future. Maybe I won’t be hugging my friends this year, not laughing with them, or rooming with them at a writing conference.
But next year.
It’s still empty and full of possibility, full of hugs, full of companionship, and worth waiting for, worth going through pain today.
As someone once said, “A moment of pain is worth a lifetime of glory.”
A year of loneliness is worth a lifetime of health and companionship. And for that reason, I’m going to stay home, wishing to be with my favorite people. For that reason, I’ll be Skyping instead of hugging. And for that reason, I’ll be letting myself cry.
Tomorrow still has sunshine,