RoslynReynolds.com

Early Spring Snowstorms

Posted On Thursday, April 1st, 2010

Under: Building Self-Confidence, Death of a loved one, Grieving, Healing after Loss, Healing from grief, Help for Widows, Losing a Spouse, Personal Care while Grieving, Sudden loss

As I walked past the flowerbed at my church Sunday, I noticed delicate shoots of crocuses pushing their way up through the loose soil. I smiled. Spring flowers are to me signs of new life, renewal, and are another of God’s miracles sent to lift our hearts. It has been a long Winter, and I am so ready for the awakening that comes with this next season.

Just two days ago my daughter and I noticed that the birds were gathering in our neighborhood and chirping cheerily, and we rejoiced at one more harbinger of the long-awaited release from the cold.

But this morning I awoke to grey skies, and soon snowflakes began falling steadily.

I went out to feed the cat, and heard the birds scolding the snow as they burrowed into the tall hedges surrounding the yard. By evening, our world was once more smothered in white, and we had donned sweaters and wool socks to ward off the extra chill in the house.

Grief seems to have seasons. There is the Autumn of grief, when we are numb from the shock and where colors fade and all things that bring beauty to life begin to wither and die. We sense that what is ahead will be long and cold.

Then comes Winter. The first flakes of snow herald a long season of grey, lifeless days with a constant chill in the air and in our souls. Since my husband died, at the approach of Winter I often feel dread at facing another string of months without warmth or color or life.

Mid-Winter follows; the darkest, coldest part of our grief, with no visible sign of release. The chill we feel is bone-deep, and darkness comes early and stays late. We have no control over when the storms will come, when they will rage with so much fury that we cannot travel out, when we have to build our own private “snow cave” and crawl in, curled up in the fetal position until it feels safe to come out again.

I heard from a dear friend the other day, mourning the tragic death of her husband. She mentioned her reluctance to go out in public because of the probability that she will end up weeping uncontrollably at any time. Those storms are so unpredictable! Not wanting to expose ourselves, nor to subject others to the awkward onslaught, we often choose to stay sequestered at home where we face them – or sometimes, just submit to them – in private.

This is the season when it is hardest to believe that Spring will come. Can there be healing, when one’s heart aches so profoundly that it is hard to breathe? What is there to look forward to when every glance out the window is greeted by bare branches and a dull, colorless landscape, matching the landscape of our soul?

I have found that I have to remind myself that Spring will come, however. Humans naturally crave warmth, and light, and color, and the first thaw in late Winter awakens a hope that maybe, even for us, there might be life again.

Grief does have its Spring. The ache in the heart gradually lessens, and though we never forget the pain of losing our loved one, one day we wake up and realize we didn’t weep in the night. We see a bird, or a flower, or a sunset, and smile. Something has changed so that beauty and warmth are entering our heart again, and our soul begins to take courage.

If you are in mid-Winter in your grief, hold on. Grieve, fully, and allow those storms to rage. Believe that they are cleansing and healing, and that once the tears are dried, you are that much closer to Spring. Each torrent allows the body and soul to purge another layer of the trauma and deep disappointment we have felt, and leaves room in our heart for light, and beauty, and hope.

The snow will melt. The sun will shine, and flowers will bloom. Hold on, and believe!

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