Her Light

When she died I died. Not literally, but in many ways.

The light went out. The light that had kept me warm.

Night and day that light was there to shine on me, bringing love and joy and encouragement.

And now it’s gone dark. But not literally.

In reality, her light is shining brighter than ever in a place where there is no night.

No shadow. No darkness at all.

Just light.

Where her light is subsumed in that greater light.

Of God.

Of love.

For a time I can no longer feel its warmth. That light that was with me all my life.

But it still glows. Ever brighter and clearer and fuller.

Just not here.

With me.

Which is all I can see.

So darkness hovers.

Just there.

Haunting.

Taunting.

Tempting to despair.

Her light would show me a better way. Even now.

Look up.

Can you glimpse her light there?

Somewhere?

Just out of reach.

Behind the veil.

Of tears.

And time.

This life of mine.

Treading on in spite of the absence of that light.

That love.

It’s left me.

But above it shines. So bright.

And one day that light will shine on me again.

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