There is comfort in getting up at night
and walking through the friendly darkness
to the kitchen for a drink.
The route, a memorized one, my feet need no light to know.
Where the dog sleeps,
where I need to turn to avoid colliding with the wall,
where to find the water faucet and cup
is all second nature.

There is comfort is reaching out to a person
who has been a part of my world
for more years than not.
We know each other's ways
and can dance almost effortlessly
in a practiced rhythm of our own.

There is comfort in knowing the day's agenda,
how to get to the grocery store
and where to find the needed items on the shelves,
who to call when something needs fixed,
what friend can lend a hand with a project undertaken,
who will laugh with me
and see that kleenex are available for my tears.

The fabric of our lives,
that which we have worn so long
and become accustomed to,
has been ripped apart through loss.
Some comfort has been lost.

We become attached to what is familiar.
We find that there has been some dependency upon it
when it is no longer there.

Grieving is work.
Losses (and often they are not singular) need to be named.
Allowing oneself to experience and express
the myriad of feelings that accompany the loss
is helpful.
Accommodating to what's new is necessary.
Adjustments take time and time requires patience.

But change can bring new growth!
We need, too, to focus on what has NOT been lost
to regain our balance,
establish new routines and build new relationships.

We need to know and live in relationship with
a God who never changes,
One who creatively uses the changes in our lives
to reveal to us
more about who we are and who He is,
so that our dependency is better placed on Him
and our hold on what inevitably changes is relaxed.

Twila
November 2008