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Hope in the Darkness.

I think my father’s passing left it’s mark on the very marrow of my bones. It changed my tune in a way that reverberates all of these years later.

I am different because he’s gone. I’m different because at the too-young age of 13 and 9 days, my father’s body was carried out of my home by humble men in white shirts and ties. I’m different because I saw the man that I had loved most in the word at that point buried days later.

It changed everything. And like all things that on their face seem only as trials, like autism, like Down syndrome, like sadness, there is some good…depending on the way we choose to wear our sorrow. Depending on what we choose to learn.

There have been things going on in the background noise of my life I’m not ready to share yet. Things too sad, too heavy, to much, to share right now in this all too public forum.  I ache to talk to my father about the things that interrupt my sleep and tear bit by bit at my soul. It’s a weight that I carry on my own. My shoulders are heavy. But at the end of the day, I “fall heavy” into Lance’s arms.

And Lance, always willing, never judging, carries the grief for me for a while so I can take a break from it. My father’s passing showed me the very fragility of the lives of the ones we love the most. When my husband holds me, my bones scream out, “treasure this! treasure this time in a way you didn’t get to with your father!” and I do.

Tonight I was low. We turned on Mumford and Sons  and my husband pulled me close and held me as we danced. Lance is tall, my head fits under his chin, my ear on his heart. I listened to it beat. And every single second of it I breathed him in. The words echoed in our kitchen,

“So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
Cause oh they gave me such a fright
And I will hold on with all of my might
Just promise me that we’ll be alright”

He’s all I need. Every second of every day. Every minute in the hardest trials or on the very best days, (and the vast amount of time in between that’s just terrifically boring) he’s all I need. I’m grateful for the perspective that losing my father has given me. Every minute I have with him I am grateful.

He is my hope in the darkness.

19 thoughts on “Hope in the Darkness.

  1. This is so beautiful I want to reach through the screen and squeeze you. I'm so glad you have your husband. Although I have not lost a father, my husband and I have endured loss together and I cannot image life without him holding me up. We are lucky girls.

  2. Beautifully written. Having just lost my own father 3 months ago I am feeling the absence of him in my life. I am glad you have someone in your life to give you that hope; and I hope your burden and grief for what is going on in your life right now is not too much to bear. I hope you have some peace soon.

  3. I feel this completely. When my father died, my husband and I were only dating. But it was into his arms I crumpled at the cemetery, and it's into his arms and his only that I allow myself to crumple now. In our vows, I wrote "you make me laugh when I want to cry" and it's true 14 years later. I will never close the hole in my heart left by my dad. But my husband makes it all better. As Jessica said…we are lucky ladies.

  4. I am sorry you have such grief, such darkness. I have not experienced the same loss, but have my own dark recesses. I am glad you have a rock, a steadfast and loving partner. It can make the darkness, perhaps not more bearable, less frightening. I hope you find greater ease in your heart, my friend.

  5. You so eloquently express something I did not consciously know I was feeling myself. Thank you.I lost my father at a young age (just after I turned 4) and the strength, depth and comfort of the love my husband has for me is the greatest gift I feel I have, the security of him is something I cherish. Loss teaches us so much.

  6. I’m very lucky to have one of those in my life. I’m sorry about your dad. Death of a loved one is so surreal. It’s incredibly sad but somehow when it happens there is a reason for it…even if it’s so beyond us at the moment. I’m sorry you are having struggles. Hugs my friend.

  7. It is nice you realize how lucky and blessed you are to have your husband… To have each other. Some of us are not that lucky/blessed and it makes this journey of life very challenging… Going it alone. Thanks for sharing your inspiring perspective!! Keep treasuring each other and keep dancing!

  8. This is exquisitely written. I lost my mom 2 and a half years ago. The loss of a parent does scar us deep, deep down…and, like you, my loss taught me to appreciate every moment…and my husband is the one who holds me and pulls me into hope when I am also in my hard place.

    I hope things get sunnier for you soon. Hugs.

  9. I hope someday I get a Lance. For similar reasons. Until then, I’ve got a cat. At least I can beat you there.

  10. You shouldn’t make me cry so early in the morning my friend. This was beautiful. I am so glad you have an amazing man that is everything you need. What a precious gift. So many in this world need a Lance. Blessings on you both.

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