There’s a quality to cold weather that makes us move within ourselves. I think it’s natural. Most of us do it. Like the woodland animals, we are cozy in our dens, waiting for Spring to arrive. Stretching out in front of us are empty hours waiting to be filled. Quiet time that lends itself well to introspective thoughts.

Many times our thoughts search out and find memories of our deceased child and pull them forth.  But oh, is it difficult to see those images some days. I’ve found, it’s the only way we can begin to heal. We have to lean into the pain, into the truth, and let it take us where it we need to go.

At times, our minds take us to some very dark places. Dangerous places.  This can be terrifying. Overwhelming. We must reach into the shadowy corners and draw forth what we find hidden there. Yes, what we find will scare us. Tear the scab from our ever present wound.  Bring us to our knees even. I’ve learned, after my time as a bereaved mother, this is the only way to heal. We have to know the darkest ugliest parts of grieving and face them head on in order to the win the battle to live again.

No one can do this for us. We must journey within our own mind and face what we find there. We’ve already survived the physical loss of our child. We’ve awoken the day after, put one foot in front of the other, and started on our grief path. Doing the internal work won’t be easy . . . but it will be worth it. I promise.

As I look out the window of my studio . . . the street is empty. The only sound I hear is the wind blowing through the tree branches. In an odd way, the cold keeps me warm. I’ve been home for about an hour and the shadowy thoughts are finding their way into my day. It’s alright. I let them come.

I’ll be journeying inward for the rest of my life.

I'm a mother, artist, and writer. A decade ago I lost my daughter. I find writing, and painting, heal me. Sharing my story of loss and healing lightens what I carry. And, hopefully, my words help another along the way.

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