Loss and Hope

Writing has been a healing outlet for me.  Hearing other’s stories have been healing as well.  It would be such a privilegde if you would like to share your story or writing about loss and hope here too.  I envision my blog being a place where others can come and read stories that are similar or even very different but be able to resonate with the duality of pain and goodness that is life.

2 responses to “Loss and Hope

  • Naomi

    Writing was very healing for me as well. I also found that helped those near me to know where I was at emotionally. One friend commented to me that being able to read my blog helped her know how to pray with out having to ask me about our loss at an awkward time. Keep writing. It’s good for everyone.

  • steph

    Thank you, Heather, for your words- your heart. This writing was born out of many experiences with loss, hope, disappointment, and my own miscarriage. Thank you for the space to express myself in this way.

    It is life and death. I feel it in my bones, especially during this season.
    Life and death, must you always be married? why do you two stay together, like two lovers who cannot wholly survive without the other?
    You give and you take and you unknowingly carry my heart with you through the process.

    Life, you stay in my body, in my blood.
    You penetrate and take root, you bud and grow, you promise newness, hope, something beyond me.

    and then you die.

    and your dying, sloughing off, walking away, flushing system leaves me to only remember something of the anxious, bleeding memory of life, only for hoping in what I do not have and may not ever.

    And I weep, those salty tears. and I sit and stare and wonder what it is about me that death must come to me. What it is about us.

    God, there must be more than what i see.

    And in those moments when I lose you, the whole world feels like life and death,
    maybe because it is.

    And then some moment it starts again, the cycle of hoping, trying, connecting, creating. And all that is part of risking residence in a small space of redemption.

    And my body knows this well. This wanting, this desiring, and this fortress of protection I so desperately use in this fragile place. If I am going to fall that far, let me land softly on you, death.

    For I knew this is how it could end.

    there you sit and wait, and I keep coming back to you. It’s part of how the world moves on, in a circle, around, and then you’re there again, remaining and revisiting. Even when I ask you to go to another home. You force me to speak, to hope, to call forth something, someone more than me.

    And then I breathe, and you’re there, and inside of me, something moves, and implants, and grows, and births, and I see your face. Your cry and your smile and your laugh are real. When we are face to face, everything changes. You giggle and laugh with delight. You bury your nose in mine and just stay for one more minute, just to touch my skin, to feel each other’s moving breath.
    Just to relish the glory of the face of another.

    And this season comes to me again, this hope,
    courage, expectation and longing.
    and disappointment. damn you damn disappointment.
    And I remember the sting of death that is still present with me, and all the deaths that have been mine to bear. And in the presence of your life, you give me the gift of forgetting for a glimpse of time. I exhale. And am at ease.

    And amidst my own relentless restlessness, to be able to feel ease for a moment, for a time to be surprised that I can bear the pain and the expectation and the hope,
    and the not knowing, to breathe deeply into the sea of the unknown,

    this is pleasant. and needed. and a gift.
    And the sting of death is distant, and the sitting with life is mine. sweet relief, please just stay right here

    until the day comes when it does not feel so life and death, when these two, these lovers, for a time, relinquish.
    when death leads to life. and then life,

    and life.

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