Tuesday, June 14, 2011

A Light on the Horizon

Have you ever been somewhere, maybe with family or friends, and something happens. Something unexpected, or difficult, or possibly even tragic, and all the memories surrounding the trip or experience seem to fade as the bigger event takes center stage. So, later when everyone remembers about the trip, and talks about "...when ____ happened" or "remember when we did _____?!" and even though you might have a faint recollection of some of it...

...you really can't remember.

And, so the people that walked through it with you, retell their story of you.

They articulate what they remember, and you can somewhat put the pieces of life together surrounding the event. But, the big thing...is still there. And is still hard to get past.

That's kind of what it feels like as I look back even now. When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I was a sophomore in college, and the world was my stage. Until then. When that happened, everything else went black, and it was all I could do to keep my head up.

I don't remember much about those months and years before she died. But my sweet friend Emily walked beside me, as several other dear friends, and she has given light into my soul even this morning. Almost 12 years later.

My hope in sharing, is that maybe it will do the same for you. My hope is to remind you, that if you're in that place, where darkness feels too heavy, where the shadows feel too big, that as you live, the art might flow out of you, and give you ease to this path for your feet. That you might see the light on the horizon, and know that the darkness will not always be this dark.


  1. I'm glad you had friends there to walk with you and be able to share with you later. Thinking of you today.

  2. I love your words... the beauty of vulnerability looks so good on you. I so enjoy it when you write from your heart!

  3. I'm sorry for the loss of your mother, Melissa. I know it was a blow, being so young. How wonderful that God sends those special people during those times, to hold our hand, to sit and say nothing ... to pray for us. Emily is a sweetheart.

  4. I'm so sorry, Melissa. You amaze me... It was great to see you this morning. Keep your head up because you are a wonderful person doing wonderful things.

  5. "...and know that the darkness will not always be this dark." That was the line that undid me. Your words, they have a sweet vulnerability to them, friend. I love you and am so thankful for you, for your celebration of life and love and family and friendship. You are a gift.

  6. Thank you for sharing this today. This summer is 15 years since my Dad was diagnosed with cancer (he's a survivor!) and 7 years since my Mom died of cancer. I think I know how that "blur" feels. I never thought about it before, but it is so true and so beautiful that there were always people there along the way, reminding me how to "be me."