There is a chill to the air and fall is in full swing.  Here around home, the colors have morphed into bright oranges, yellows, and reds, the iconic colors of a Western Pennsylvania landscape.  We’ve been blessed with a gorgeous autumn, one with enough sunlight and favorable temperatures to really get out and enjoy it.  

How many of you are huge autumn fans?  I can only imagine that right now, you are sitting by your phone or computer with a pumpkin latte in hand, sipping it slowly.  Some of you take trips to the mountains to soak in the vibrant colors.  Some of you attend a special festival.  We tend to have those annual interests that grab our attention during this time of year.  People are out and about everywhere.  Hiking, walking, hunting, the last of the activities before winter sets in.  There is a charm to it all.  

But is it charming for everybody?

For those who have lost a loved one, this time of year can be extremely difficult.  I know it was for me.  The dark years of my own personal grieving grew to a mountain-sized pinnacle between the onset of fall and the beginning of the new year.  Maybe it is because there were so many memories made during that season in the good years before the night came.  Maybe it is because we place so much emphasis on these last gorgeous days of golden sunshine.  Maybe with all the walks and hikes and trips to do fun things, we inadvertently created our own box of pain to hold after the bright day closed and the lonely night began.

I remember the pain.

The flocks of Canadian Geese with their trumpet calls would form that arrowhead in the sky and pierce their flightpath to the southern states.  It was majestic.  I would be in awe and revel in the inspiration of it.  And then the thought would creep into a lonely place of my heart.  Canadian Geese mate for life.  And the sadness would come.  And I could not process the one lonely goose that had to make this trip south without his mate.

Yes, that’s how someone’s brain thinks after you’ve lost someone you love.

Today’s post goes out to some of my special readers and supporters who have recently lost that someone special.  My heart goes out to you.  I’ve seen your grief opening like a sad rose bloom on Facebook and Instagram.  I hear the cry of your heart as you process it all.  This may be the first time you face these seasons alone.  It is an uncharted path that you are expected to navigate yourself.  

Alone.

There are no words.

But sometimes there doesn’t need to be words, right?  Sometimes a faithful friend doesn’t need to even speak at all.  Sometimes the hearts of the surviving, the remaining, can join together and sip a pumpkin latte slowly together.  Yes, that might just be exactly what our broken hearts may need, isn’t it?  No words.  Just to be there.  Togetherness.

One of my go-to scriptures is paramount to me.

2 Corinthians 1:3-5

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too.

Share.  A word we sometimes forget.

So that is what I’m sending out today.  To those that are hurting, I’m hurting with you too.  I’ll take it.  I’ll share it.  It’s too heavy for just one set of shoulders.  For those who are lonely, I know that pain.  Sometimes you don’t need things fixed.  You don’t need a trite word spoken to an ear too heavy to hear it.  Sometimes you’re the only one who notices there might be a goose in the sky that feels the same way you do.  You might have already looked up to see them.  I share your sadness.

It does gets easier, but it’s never the same.  I’m now able to look at the autumn colors and watch the geese without the sting of pain being quite so intense.  

Time.

And so, I’ll share my comforts also.  There is some comfort, and that is good news.  We just read the scripture stating a wonderful blessing: God has allowed me to heal and share with you, so that you also can heal as well.  There will be a day when you can sip that latte or go to that special festival or walk that certain hiking trail. . . and even if it’s a somber smile, smile, because of the goodness of the memory and the priceless affection you have towards it.  

These moments will happen.  And do you know what the special thing is about it?  Nobody else needs to know about it.  Tuck it in your back pocket.  Write it in your journal.  Enjoy the healing moment for what it is.  One day, as I have, you can smile in the rain.  When you watch the World Series, it won’t hurt so bad, and you can remember how you both would cheer on a favorite team in that special memory.  One day you will make a trip back to that place only the two of you shared, and it will be special, and you can feel and embrace and smile a warm smile of comfort. 

Isn’t that what your loved one would also want?

They also would share that smile.

Photo credit: Pixabay

And some day, through God’s grace, love, and mercy, his comfort will allow you to look up in the sky, find the one goose who is flying without a mate, and cheer him or her on as well.

Godspeed, my friend Mr. Goose.

Hang in there, my friend.

By Chuck Carr