Dappled Sunlight

Yesterday I passed by my study and caught a glimpse of the late afternoon sun shining through the trees sending dappled light through the window and across my desk.  Dappled light.  I stood at the door in a frozen state as I envisioned the paintings of the French Impressionist Auguste Renior, who was the master of painting dappled light.

My thoughts then segued to a lazy September afternoon when Dale and I meandered, hand in hand, through the streets of Paris to the Place des Voges near the apartment of author Victor Hugo. I had been instantly drawn to the dappled light before me that was so reminiscent of Renoir’s paintings that I couldn’t resist taking this photo:

As I pulled myself back to the present I steadied my hand on the door knob in anticipation of the all too familiar plunge into sadness and tears when forced to negotiate the painful levels of loss that these kind of sudden unsolicited memory-moments summon. It’s one of those “Dale and I together” moments that hit my heart with the knowledge that I will never experience a moment like this with him again throughout the rest of my earthly life. It’s yet another virtual emotional explanation-point emphasizing the fact that he is gone and I am left without him.

But this time…..a sort of calm happiness crept over me. That was a surprise.  Perhaps it was the dappled sunlight itself that worked the magic or perhaps, just perhaps, at long last I’m doing a better job of dealing with my loss?

I have come to realize of late that I will never, ever miss Dale any less. Which is different from what people have been telling me..that I’ll miss him less with time.  Knowing that I will never miss him any less and it’s ok was an ah ha moment for me  - I realized that I can only learn to safe guard my heart in its fractured state and yet I’m well aware that it would also be very easy to lock my heart  away completely and not allow any emotions to touch it.

Remember the story of “The Three Bears”?  It comes to play here now… I realize that I cannot allow my heart to burn too hot with the memories, seeing them as a source of pain (and slip into a depression where I can’t accomplish anything)

OR I can just as easily lock up my heart from emotions to avoid the pain and allow it to grow too cold (but then I would miss out on the good emotions that are here with me too)

OR since neither of those options seem right to me, I will take the “Goldilocks” approach with this grieving process. And allow my heart to accept the memories,  not too hot so as to be carried away with the pain and not too cold in an attempt to not care but as if they are a warm, nourishing replenishment that helps my heart heal with the joy of that moment not the pain of the loss of that moment.

Perhaps yesterday as I looked at that dappled light, my subconscious mind actually did this for me and allowed my heart to enjoy the pleasant memory because for the first time, in a long time, it let me gently embrace the unexpected moment with a smile and a warm feeling in my broken heart.  It actually felt…not too hot and not too cold but kind of just right.

Now that I have experienced that feeling I’ll tuck this peaceful dappled sunlight moment away in the mental hope chest I’ve been filling with experiences and words of wisdom so that I may draw upon them when I am, and I will be, hit with future unexpected moments (there are decades of memories!)  It’s a small step, but it’s going in the right direction.

I’m reminded of a quote I saved a long time ago, years before I actually needed it, by Neal Maxwell:

Whatever our particular furrow, we can, in Paul’s words, “plow in hope,” not looking back, and refusing to let yesterday hold tomorrow hostage.