
The days just after my husband left are pretty much a blur now. I was in so much emotional pain, I could barely see straight.
I do remember, however, my friend, Lori, coming over that first day I was alone in the house and giving me a package of automatic night lights. I remember thinking it was such an odd present.
My world was falling apart and she was giving me little plastic night-lights?
I was sure she meant well, but I was confused. I had never used night-lights. Why would I need them?
I didn't understand. I thanked her and then set them aside.
Then, night fell.
Then I understood.
Lights that guide me.
I put one in the hallway and one in the dining room. Sensing the darkness, those trusty little lights come on at dusk and provide a soft glow for me all through the night. I can see them shining from my open bedroom door. If I need to go out to the kitchen, or make my way out to the living room, they light my way.
Lights that sustain me.
Before he moved to Virginia, Sonny Boy gave me about seven small flashlights he had gotten on sale. He had no idea of the events to come, but those little flashlights, placed all over the house, have been a comfort to me.
I have used them to search in the corners of dark drawers and to look under the bed when I can’t find my shoes. I have one beside my bed and one just inside the door to the garage. I take one out with me when I go walking at night.
Each time I use one, I think of Sonny Boy. He and his brother--my sons--those two beautiful stars in my universe, help me remember my place in the family constellation during this confusing time.
I may not be a wife to my husband any longer, but I those two steady sources of light will never exit from my sky.
By them, I will always be able to set my course in life.
Lights that comfort me.
In a post about two months ago, I bemoaned coming home to a darkened house on the night I teach late, and over and over again, you, my blogging buddies, suggested a timer on my lamp.
You would think I would have thought of that on my own, but at the time, I was dumbfounded and just stumbling through my days. It was a simple suggestion, but what a difference it has made.
I put the timer on and each night my lamp comes on at 5:30 and goes off at 9:30. I love the dependability of my timer. I love the dependability of the blogging community.
How do I get my arms around all of you?
Lights that humble me.
In one of the sweetest gestures, my blogging friend, Inkpuddle, wrote a note to me to tell me that she had remembered my post about my house being dark on Wednesday night. She wrote, “I thought of you and turned on a light in my living room today, right by the window, before I went in for the night shift. I guess I just wanted you to have a light on tonight, even if it was all the way in Atlanta and you wouldn’t really see it; it was all of the support behind it that I hoped you would feel.”
Her kindness brought tears to my eyes. A light in Atlanta. For me. No, I couldn't see it, but I could feel it.
Lights that warm me.
My friend Steve sent me a lovely heart-shaped candle holder and candles from his home in West Virginia to remind me that I am loved.
Another friend wouldn’t leave my house one night until she was sure my automatic porch light was working. She waited patiently to test it over and over again.
Periodically, my phone lights up with pictures of my great-nephew from my niece, or messages of love from my family and friends.
Lights. Lights. Everywhere beautiful little lights.
It is late November and so, now when I am out walking in the evening I am surprised and delighted by the Christmas lights that are popping up all over my neighborhood. I look at all those little lights, each one so little, but each one so important.
I smile as I pass by those displays and I think about these past three months and the things I have learned.
In the past, when my friends have faced difficulties, I have felt that my card, call, or hug, would be puny and insignificant in comparison to the weight of their plight. However, now I know that even the smallest light, physical or metaphorical, can lesson the heaviness of the darkness that will, inevitably, fall in all our lives.
I think back to my first night alone and Lori’s simple gift of those night-lights and I know now they were, of course, the perfect present.
Sensing darkness and automatically responding.
Lighting up a path for the temporarily lost.
Providing light, gentle guidance, warmth, and dependability.
Isn’t that what friendship is all about?
Little Lights.
Everywhere.
Beautiful little lights.
Thank you all.
I am grateful for each and every one.