Last year I noticed a hole about 2” across at the base of one of my rosemary bushes. I figured I had some sort of critter living out in my garden. Sure enough, there was a mouse-type varmint living a good life out there. I would like to think it was a mouse because they are cuter than rats. Well, they aren’t really, but they are smaller. When I found its remains, the thing was kind of big actually. I should have known by the size of the hole.
I started my spring weeding a few weeks ago, I came across that hole again. This time, instead of thinking about the furry little mouse-rat that called that hole “home”, I thought about the hole that is my grief. There are times, more than I would like to acknowledge, that I am stuck down in that hole. I am curled up in a ball and can just see the light as if a long way off.
Other times, I cannot even see the light. I am in so deep, just me and the darkness, living and breathing, but not part of the world outside. It is in those times I am especially thankful for my family and my friends, for people who love me no matter what. They may not realize how far down the hole I am but they are there for me. They love me. That is all that matters.
Recently, I realized just how secluded I had become and started to make that long climb out. Out of sadness, out of isolation, out of the darkness. Climbing is not easy. I have to let myself be vulnerable to get help. I have to say to friends and family, “Hey! I need some help!” When I do that, life is beautiful.
Most importantly, no matter where I am, whether I am running around this garden called life, or hunkered down in my hole, Jesus never leaves me. The love of my heavenly Father surrounds me. The voice of the Holy Spirit speaks to me and reminds me that I am a beloved child of the King of kings.
Living blessed, being thankful for all that I have, rather than thinking about what or who I have lost, keeps me breathing, keeps me living, keeps me loving the people and the world beyond The Hole.
A special note: The story of The Hole was started in April just before what would have been my son, Brian’s, 25th birthday. The trip down the hole has been months long. But I’m climbing back. Cause that’s what I do! It is now August and tomorrow will mark the 3rd anniversary of his passing.