Today I got a message from a friend of dear loved ones. This text was checking in with me about checking in on them. In part: “I don’t want to add to your stress level… but I don’t think I am completely okay.”
I read it. I felt it. I understood it. I read it again.
Things have been really heavy recently. They’ve been hard and they’ve been trying and they’ve been exhausting.
In a bit over a month, my heart has palpitated, stopped, swelled, burst and shattered. It’s felt full, it’s felt empty, it has longed and to be honest, it has had trouble finding its rhythm again. It will get there I know, but it’s struggling. I am struggling and I don’t think I am completely okay.
I have found that certain moments in time can truly define a person. The type of moments that happen to someone else. The moments that seem so wild, so foreign, so awful that they cannot possibly be real. These moments can utterly devastate someone; fill them with so much pain they feel as though they may crack open and never become whole again. They can fracture every ounce of hope and stifle any sense of purpose or calm. So how is it that these very same moments can also wrap someone so tightly in love and understanding they feel thoroughly seen and wholly safe? How can these awful moments perpetuate a feeling of such fierce love and awakening that it feels as though the world is suddenly beautiful and vivid beyond recognition?
What an insane dichotomy to ponder.
I suppose this is what the meaning of “silver linings” truly is; just when you think that you cannot bear something any longer, there’s a glimmer- a sliver of light drawing your attention away from the hurt just long enough for you to recenter. A distraction, a song, a quote, a laugh, a memory, a smile, a small kindness- something to pull you back. A good cup of coffee, a bird’s song, the fresh air, a beautiful tree, a dog’s unencumbered devotion, an unexpected message, a genuine connection.
When we live through these moments in time that feel surreal and like they’re someone else’s reality, we change. We see things through an entirely different lens. Those lenses are certainly not rose colored; sometimes they’re dark, sometimes they’re clear, sometimes they’re simply shattered. But they are never so unclear that the silver linings won’t appear. They won’t always be easy to see, through the tears and the hurt and the anger and the uncertainty. But they will be there when you’re ready to see them. Like trees- the leaves aren't always there, but they will be; the buds are waiting for that light, their silver lining.
And I don’t think I am completely okay, and that’s alright for now.
This post was and is hard. SE, I love you. I see you. The silver linings are there… somewhere, somehow. For Sammy, for Michelle, for you.
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