Tunnel Vision - Part 2

The metaphorical epiphany continues.

For those needing background information, read part 1 by clicking HERE.

In part 1 of this metaphor, I mention a period of time in which I lost the light which I relied upon to traverse the caves of life.  In my frustration and pain, I sat down, shut my eyes, and gave up for a little while.

There were (and still are) wonderful people in my life who approached me as I sat there with my eyes closed tight against the trials which I didn't want to see. They offered help, they offered comfort, and they offered to walk with me for a time and let me see with their candles.  But I didn't yet have the will to move or the strength to open my eyes. I still believed that if I kept them closed long enough, I would realize it was just a nightmare and wake up and the pain would be gone.  And so these wonderful people, understandably frustrated with my non-responsiveness, said "Call me", "Let me know if you ever need to talk", and "I'm here for you", and then walked on.

Now - in case I haven't been clear enough - these people are wonderful people who I am eternally grateful for. These offers came from close friends, dear family, and even casual acquaintances who desired to help someone that they saw was suffering. They did what they could to help.

Weeks later - I finally opened my eyes. My Savior had been sitting with me and he helped me to get up and move again, but looking around, I knew the light of my friends' candles had long faded into the distance. I could no longer remember who had told me to call them when I needed help and part of me felt that, having once turned down their offer, I no longer deserved the help I had been offered. When something as simple as a Friday night alone faced me like an insurmountable climb, I believed it was my punishment for having turned down help when it was offered.

But some of those wonderful people understood my grief. They didn't say "Call me" and walk away. They instead picked me up and took me swimsuit shopping on July 4th so that I wouldn't spend the holiday alone. They texted me and told me they needed my help to make a cake or clean their kitchen or just drive while they confided in me their own pain. They did not wait for me to call them. They came back and found me in the dark and walked with me. They let me share their candles and eventually helped me to re-light mine.

I again walk by the light of my own candle. The darkness and jagged terrain of deep grief have passed me. But they taught me something about grief that I hope to never forget.

Sometimes, the hardest part of grief is a few weeks after the initial wound.  Sometimes, the hardest part is when you accept the events as real life instead of a nightmare and you get up and try to walk again.  You have not forfeited help because it was offered before you needed it, but I know how hard it is to admit that you still need it. I hope I always remember that, so that I can return and walk with you.