Last week marked the end of another school year in my community. I’m guessing for miles the ‘woo-hoos’ from kids, teachers and bus drivers (and maybe some parents) could be heard. Ahhh….summer! The time of year for a break from homework, a break from schedules and after school activities. A break from alarm clocks and late night study sessions. A much needed all-around-break!  I’ve always looked forward to summer. Always looked forward to the extra time with my kiddos. And of course not having to pack lunches…Bonus!

This year, I will admit, I am looking forward to summer for some different reasons. In some weird, almost twisted way it might mean that another chapter in my ‘grief book’ could end. Somehow, I am hoping that by having this school year come to a close, I can move away from ‘the year my daughter succumbed to her battle with brain cancer’.  Also, her friends and classmates might be able to breathe a little easier by putting this painful ‘year of loss’ to rest. Instead of feeling all composed on the last day of school and happy thoughts of summer, I stumbled face first. Hit the ground hard.

I wasn’t prepared for the wave of different emotions that flooded me. Wasn’t prepared for the immense pain I felt the morning of ‘the last day’.  Normally, my ‘last day’ routine would be all about picking up my kids and marveling at the sheer joy on their sweet faces as they walk toward me. Hearing the excitement in their voices when they would hop into the car because ‘summer vacation’ had officially started.  Maybe we would go to lunch or come home to fresh baked cookies and chat about summer plans? Instead nothing. No picking up kids, no after school snack. Just silence.  This year, my youngest son decided to spend his after school time with his friends instead of coming home. So I found myself alone… all alone. For the first time 16 years I was alone on the last day of school. Another twist, another curve. Another obstacle to face in this grief journey.

“Maybe we would go to lunch or come home to fresh baked cookies and chat about summer plans?”

I decided to put my restless energy into making a trip to the grocery store. As I was walking in I said to myself, “I sure hope I don’t run into anyone here today, I don’t think my heart can take it”. I was on the edge emotionally and knew that making polite conversation with someone would send me over this cliff that I’m barely holding on to. Wasn’t up for idle chit-chat, or putting on ‘my smile,’ or explaining how I’m doing, or how we are all coping with this horrible grief. Then I almost chuckled out loud, “of course you won’t run into anyone you know here…they are all with their children! Where they should be…on-this-last-day-of-school!” This painful thought caused the jagged lump in my throat to grow bigger, grow tighter. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes and just one more knife-twist to my heart and a flood would occur.

As I walked aimlessly through the grocery store aisles I could feel the ache in my heart grow with each step I took. Trying to focus on my list but instead thinking I should jump into the freezer section so my body could go numb and then maybe I wouldn’t feel this pain so much. Perhaps somewhere between the peas and the carrots would be good I thought.  But instead, I forced myself to complete the shopping trip (forgetting most of the things on my list) and head home. Head home to an empty house. Head home to where I could be alone in my grief.

Shortly after I got home the neighborhood started echoing with sounds of laughter from all the happy ‘schools out’ kids. Their excitement seemed to increase with each passing minute and these echoes of laughter became louder.  Groups of teenage girls walked by throughout the afternoon. None of them included my baby girl.  All of this…left a huge gaping-hole in my heart. Then, it started to rain. It seemed to come out of nowhere. The morning was filled with sunshine and singing birds and this rain seemed unexpected. With the rain the laughter and excitement seemed to reach an all time high as the kids were splashing around in the puddles. Nothing like a warm afternoon rain to play in! The rain seemed to fit my mood though. Except my mood didn’t reflect the sounds laughter or joy. Just rain. By this time my heart felt like a shredded mess. When will this day be over? When will this dreadful, pain-filled day be over?!!

“Groups of teenage girls walked by throughout the afternoon. None of them included my baby girl.”

The rain stopped just about as quickly as it came and soon after the sun was shining again. Then all of a sudden…it hit me!  Hit me like a Frisbee to the head. The sun always shines after the rain. Of course! Of course it does!  Maybe not right away, or as fast as it did on this day, but it will shine again…eventually. Thank you God opening my eyes to the rays of sunshine and opening my heart to feel a glimmer of hope. Hope for brighter days ahead. My rainy days will see sunshine again someday. And just as the sunshine will always out shine the rain, the Light will always give way to darkness. I don’t think I ever needed it to rain more than I did this day. Because, without the rain…I wouldn’t have seen the sunshine. Wow! What a connection! This connection caused my emotions to shift. God is the bright shining beacon that gives me hope and lights my darkness. He is the sunshine to my rainy days.

“Because, without the rain…I wouldn’t have seen the sunshine.”

This was certainly not a new revelation for me, but pain and grief have a way of showing their ugly faces and can cause you to not see clearly. Satan loves to sneak in during our weak moments and take a front row seat! He jumps at any chance to pull up a chair and make himself comfortable. Sorry mister…no peas and carrots for you today!

I may not always have the strength to handle or see my way through ‘my new normals’ but I do know that no matter how weak I feel or how dark it seems, the Light will always overcome and pave my way.

Beacon of Light, thank you for always shining in the midst of darkness. Thank you for being the Sunshine to any rainy day. ~ Amen