Burning Bright
All the leaves are brown and mostly on the ground except for the evergreens and a few of the oaks reluctant to drop their treasure. Winter is here and its cold. I can remember when I thought cold was a thing before I really understood that cold was merely the absence of heat, and that air in particular was mostly warm unless it was failing to get any sunshine and that was the key, sunshine, heat.
And it got me to thinking the other day about grief, and what if it was like cold air and it could be defined by the absence of heat, in this case, a heat driven by love, especially a mutual love going two ways, a love that drove a life full of love. The soul’s equivalent of a raging fire, so that when half of the fuel burned out and went away, well, things started to seem really cold, which is why grief lingers. The person left behind has to acclimate to the lack of heat or find an acceptable way to replace it. Lots of challenges in either case.
And maybe the first thing that happens in acclimation is a way is found to bank the burning coals of memories, remnants of the old fire. And the coals warm the soul as fuel is added from the little fires, scattered as the big fire died, the love of family and friends, relationships where affections run both ways, and maybe new relationships are added in. As they gather, the heat starts to build and life warms back up. It is still touched by the memory of the big fire, and it is missed, but now the days begin to feel less chill. There’s comfort to be found in a multitude of warm embraces, enough to make the days bearable and maybe even fun once again.And then who knows, but maybe one day, more fuel shows up, and another big fire roars to life. It happens.
John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale