Let It Rain

Image result for the best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain

Spring days here in Oregon can start out cold and drizzly and suddenly burst into sunshine and balmy breezes, only to again be intruded by dismal rain and shifting temperatures. 

Just like these fickle gray rainstorms, grief is such an unpredictable interrupter of life,  a soul-slicer when you thought the pain was over, a sharp reminder of things you wish you could forget. 

Today is my parents' 42nd wedding anniversary.  Or, at least it would be, if my mom were still with us here on earth.  I wrote the date rather casually on my white board this morning; it wasn't until I announced the date to my students later in the chaos of morning readying that the date registered in my mind as a special one, a one worth remembering.  But who can really grieve in a classroom full of noisy, squirmy students?  No, it must be pushed back into the recesses of sometime later while life goes on.  Engaging classes.  A hilarious joke from one of my students.  A burst of that rather elusive sunshine through my classroom window.  A proud smile as a student finally understands the math lesson.  And the grief is gone.

A day full of things done and things still to do culminates in a hurried making of dinner,  until I glance at the family calendar as I pass by the refrigerator.  The photos of my mom with her beautiful grandchildren grab at my heart and insist on grief.  Now.  My children don't really understand it.  They are flushed with excitement from the last activity and impatiently dancing around the kitchen awaiting dinner.  Their thoughts are on video games and friends from school and cute hamsters and the latest good book.  They wouldn't, couldn't relate to my thoughts.

Thoughts that whirl around and tumble down, threatening to bring down my spirits and my heart.  Thoughts that insist, "If only I had had one more day with her..."  Thoughts that cry out "Why was she taken so soon?"  Thoughts that are primal, wanting a mother's arms around me again.  Thoughts that bring guilt, contending that it's almost been a year and that it's time to move on.

But who can ever really move on from the loss of a mother?

I move, but I don't move on.  I let the tears fall when they come and wait for the next bit of sunshine to come through.  I am learning that the darkest, grayest moments only intensify the moments of bliss that follow. 


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