Life feels so heavy, as if it just might crumble and disintegrate under the weight of grief.
There are just too many people whose lives have been jolted out of typical and propelled into tragic.
So many who feel buried under the weight, wondering if they will ever be able to dig themselves out. Wondering if the weight will ever decrease, if the load will ever be easier to carry. Wondering if they will fade into the darkness forever, or if against all odds, the light might bring them out of it.
Their babies. Gone.
Their mothers. Gone.
Their fathers. Gone.
Their husbands, wives, children. Gone.
Their lives, their stories once written in black and white, are now stained with the red ink of a broken heart.
A broken heart that cannot be healed by modern technology or well-meaning words. A broken heart that will wrestle in anguish, trying to make sense of how it ended up in its current state. A broken heart that will never fully heal.
It is impossible to take away the pain that results from tragedy and heartache, the pain that is best described as grief. The sorrow and suffering, longing and despair, will linger as time on earth continues.
The stories of those whose lives are bogged down in grief cannot be changed. But they can be added to. The heartache and tragedy cannot be erased, or even rewritten. But kindness, compassion, light and love can be written into these stories.
When life is feeling heavy for those around us we have the ability to help lighten the load for them and to help carry the load with them. To weave hope and light into a story that has been tangled up in hopelessness and darkness.
The lightening takes place when we reach out to them, instead of waiting for them to reach out to us. When we show up with a meal. When we insist on babysitting. When we shower them with whatever abundance we might be experiencing at any given time – maybe it’s money, time or a number of other blessings we may have been given for the moment.
And the carrying takes place when we listen to their stories. When we cry with them. When we keep calling even though we know they won’t answer. When we send messages, knowing we won’t get a response. When we speak the names of those babies, children, husbands, wives, fathers, and mothers whose absence will never be filled or replaced. When we empathize and validate their sorrow. When we don’t forget their suffering.
We can’t take away the burden of grief, but we can make the lives of those who are hurting just a little more beautiful when we open our hands in service, our hearts with compassion, our ears to their pain, and our eyes to the fact that grief lasts well past the funeral.