Finding the Sweetness in the Dark

I believe my mental fog is lifting. (Although, if you speak with those to whom I've uttered complete nonsense recently, I'm afraid they'd tell you otherwise. 😉)

I'm learning to accept this season I'm in. To notice it for what it is. To appreciate that slow progress forward is normal, and okay. It's still progress.

"We are taught to ignore sadness, to stuff it down into our satchels and pretend it isn't there. . . . We often have to learn to hear the clarity of its call. That is wintering. It is the active acceptance of sadness. It is the practice of allowing ourselves to feel it as a need." —Katherine May, Wintering, pages 119-120

The marquee in my town's village center displays a version of the following quote from American writer John Steinbeck:

"For how can one know color in perpetual green, and what good is warmth without cold to give it sweetness?" —Travels with Charley, page 25

It's a good reminder to notice the sweetnesses around me. Those that surround me today, but also those that were there in the dark. The ones I barely caught glimpses of in the moment.

Thankfully, I did catch them. They are the memories from the cold that I hope to never forget. The memories that will usher in the green and the warmth.

During my mother's worst days, I watched the interactions between her and my husband. Over the past thirty-five years, they've shared many extended visits and gotten to know each other well.

But there was a tenderness to their relationship I hadn't fully seen before. They had a bond unique to them, and it was sweet to see.

I watched as he held her hand, as he offered comfort and grace. I listened as the two of them recounted stories from their lives together.

During those final days, he stood by her side far longer than I could bear to myself. Those were the moments when they shared tales only the two of them know about.

What a gift I was given witnessing the culmination of their investments in each other and in their shared connection.

There's value in holding space for the current season. To sitting with what I'm feeling and not rushing through the process. To remembering the sweeter moments.

There's also great value in welcoming people into that space beside me. In letting my guard down to accept their sweetness when it's offered.

This is life.

Investing in our relationships. Catching each other when one of us is falling. Offering kindness of spirit. Good will. Compassion. Being the space holder for someone else. Even when it feels uncomfortable and inconvenient.

Soon enough, our roles will reverse. Then reverse again.