Why I Wear Black

My life as I knew it stopped that day. It had changed two and a half years before, never to be the same again yet this day was different, it came to a stop. I started a batch of bread and got a load of wash into the washer. Then I dug out my suitcase from under the stairs. As I struggled to set my house in order I put things into the suitcase that I may need. I took a gym bag out of the closet as well and began to fill it with things for five year old Chloe. The bread rose on the counter and I hung clothes on the line. As I threw corn out for the chickens tears ran down my cheeks. Sometimes they flowed so heavily that I couldn’t see and had to blink many times to get my vision focused. I didn’t say any prayers but silently took care of the birds and gathered eggs and filled water buckets. There were babies in the brooder. I went in to care for them and sat on a box and really let the tears flow. I whispered and cooed to them. I sat there for awhile until the tears stopped. It won’t do for Chloe to see me this way. I don’t want her to be nervous, she loves adventures. I baked the bread and folded the laundry and finished packing. I replied to an email that I would be on my way very soon. I waited for Mark to get home from lunch and told him that I didn’t know when I would be home but that I was needed at the hospice. I thanked him for taking care of things for me and invited him to drive out to see us.

Four weeks later I laid my head on her casket in the cemetery, after the brief graveside service, and let the tears course down my face and run all over the beautiful box that held her forever. I did not restrain myself. I didn’t care. It was over in the worst possible way. My little Chloe was close by with family. My two girls Andrea and Joanna one on each side arms wrapped around me wept filled to the brim with grief. They wanted so badly to comfort me and said words but my soul was sinking deep into darkness and my bones were tired and weak. I stood up with them and we went home together as a family and I eventually went to bed.

Days passed by and one by one the relatives and children went home to their own lives to bear their own griefs and we were left alone. Mark, Chloe and I. I slept. I woke. I slept. I did things but mostly I slept and cried. I got up and dressed pretty, in blue and green and cooked and the tears came and came and came. So I went back to bed and slept. I got stuck in the middle of steps. Sometimes in the yard between the barn and the house. Sometimes in the house. I would stand not sure which way to turn or which step was next. I don’t know how long I would stand like that. I would stop in the middle of talking, not sure which word to say or which letter comes next. Then I would cry. We ate what was brought to us most days. I had frozen everything and would just take it out of the freezer and put it in the oven. It wasn’t too hard to do. I was numb. One day someone told me that I should try to move on.

I became angry. Anger filled me up. My anger frightened me. I was angry at Mark because he couldn't stop my anger. He is not a praying out loud kind of man but he put his hand on my head and prayed one day, so bad was my anger. I told him about my anger and I was open about it.

When Debbie was sick and I knew the end for her would be soon, I wondered how it would affect me. How could I know how it would be. I read in the Bible that Rachel wept and could not be comforted because her children were no more. I read that Jacob tore his clothes and would go to his grave in sorrow because his son was dead. I know with my head that there is a resurrection and that Debbie is resting with the Lord and her body will be restored in the triumphant day. But my soul is deep with the sorrow that my child could not live to see many days with her son, with her sisters and brother and nieces and nephews and all the good she could have had here. I would have rather been the one to go ahead. I should be.

I covered myself in black. I put away the colors and trifles and let a part of myself be with her. I found the strength to walk in a different way. I found my voice bit by bit. And I drove out the anger, thought by thought. I worked with my hands and stood on my feet. I surround myself with pictures of my children, all of them brave beyond words. I learned a new way to live, to be here in the present moment, to love and care.

Bit by bit the tiredness has gone away. I have begun to live again, but with a new determination. Those things I have always wanted to do but thought were trifling those are the things I do now. Like writing a thousand words a day. Cooking all our own food from wholesome ingredients is important to me now. If I don’t live this way now, then when will I. Reading everyday to Chloe is so important and sharing hopeful wonderful things with others is important as well.

It has been 3 years now and I am still wearing black and my hair is worn simply. I have begun to have courage to face this life again. I have let go of my anger, though I still don’t understand why she had to die. I am waking up and learning to walk.

There is no right or wrong in grief. There is no rhyme or reason. There are no words adequate. There is however a deepening and an expanding and enriching of compassion in those who know true love.

The above article is an example of one thousand words.  As a daily exercise I write one thousand words.