When the Words Didn’t Come
But His word was in my heart like a burning fire shut up in my bones; I was weary of holding it back, and I could not.
Jeremiah 20:9
When I say I don’t know where the year has gone, I really mean, I don’t know where the year has gone. I last shared on this blog in January, and then nothing for the last 7 months.
The first four months were very busy with caregiving, advocating, loving and losing. Some day I will go back and share about those months, but not yet. The next few months were busy with planning, organizing, paperwork, and trying to figure out what life, without my husband, would look like. Much of the summer was taken up with family and friends, enjoying people and events. Quality time and hugs and lots of laughter and just as many tears. The last two months has found me coming alongside others, in palliative care, in hospital beds, loving and sharing from experience, finding new family and friends and sharing in their loss.
It has been gut-wrenching and wonderful, intimate and joyful, full of so much sorrow and so much gratitude, love and loss, and grace upon grace.
There were times when I wanted to sit and write and times when I actually sat to write – but nothing came. Just the general musings of the everyday. In time, I was convinced that there were no words and nothing to say. So, I stepped back and left it alone. And then, it all opened up.
So here I am again, ready to share with you all.
When the Words Didn’t Come
When the words didn’t come
I thought,
“Oh, the weariness has been so much,
I need to rest.”
The tears fell and I thought
they spoke for themselves.
When the words didn’t come
I thought,
“There is so much to do, to organize,
to figure out –
I need time.”
I moved quickly and with focus
and I thought the weight of this great
responsibility
spoke for itself.
When the words didn’t come
I thought,
“The grief is so heavy
I need time to heal.”
I felt the loss and I thought
the sorrow spoke for itself.
When the words didn’t come
I thought,
“I need to find joy in the moment
and be so present-
make up for lost time.”
I found joy in everything and I thought
my gratitude spoke for itself.
Time passed.
Like yesterday and also like many years-
and the words didn’t come.
I sat, pen in hand
time set aside
ready and willing,
but the words didn’t come.
I thought,
“Maybe there is nothing to say.
Perhaps it has all been said before me.”
To a friend I said,
“The words have not come,
maybe there is nothing to be said.”
As I drove home in the dark
the words that hadn’t come-
they moved inside –
shifted –
so that I felt the weight of them.
Their presence was undeniable.
They spoke,
“Maybe it is not that there is nothing to say-
Maybe it is that you have been afraid
of what the words will say
if you let them speak for themself.”
Yes! I knew it to be true.
The words need to speak –
there is much to be said –
whether I fear their truth
or their power.
The words didn’t come
Because they were withheld.
What relief to know there are words
and they will come-
if permitted.
Already the numbness inside has begun
to lift.
The words will come.
These are the words!
The Weight of Words
I allowed the words to whisper truth
in the darkness.
Truth, I knew to be true
the moment it was released.
There were words to be said and shared
all along.
I believed things spoke for themselves,
but I knew better.
Grief has its own vocabulary and
needs to be released.
Nothing speaks for itself in this season.
It needs to be
heard, acknowledged,
sifted through, felt and spoken,
written and received –
by myself and others.
The words are heavy when held in.
Powerful in a way that won’t allow my thoughts
to slow or cease-
that won’t allow sleep to come.
Someone must be a witness
to their weight and
if I won’t share them,
then I will be the one
required to replay them
like a movie reel,
day and night.
But once you put your pen to paper
and allow them to speak-
speak truth-
not the, “there are no words”,
but the truth of the fear of allowing them to run free.
Then you need not be their only witness.
Their weight decreases internally and sleep comes.
The weight of words belongs on paper
witnessed
held
seen
felt
taken and sifted through the experiences of others.
A weight shared
powerful in its truth
powerful in its ability to connect and build community.
I will be a witness to their weight
and I will sleep
and I will help build.
Witness
Now that I know,
I am so aware
of the mountain of words
waiting to be released.
Not patiently, willing to be released
one at a time.
But a pressured flow of words
that push hard against one another
to be released first.
They cannot wait.
They cannot afford to be
prim and proper
mannerly
saying please and thank you
And “oh no, you go first.”
They must be let go or they will implode –
the potential of the power they hold
lost
shattered into a thousand bits and pieces.
And so, they lose all sense of decorum
and press hard to overtake the
ones in front of them.
How then will I control this
out of control
flow of words that
frantically press to be brought forth-
to be released –
to be witnessed-
heard- seen – felt and experienced
Ah, but what if
I let them out in a torrent-
and don’t try to control
or censor or edit
What if I allow them to be
what they are-
Raw, real, beautiful.
What if I sit as a witness
rather than a critic.
Open. Willing.
& love these words just as they come.