From Grief to Grace & Back Again

A Winter's Reflection on Light and Darkness

Today begins with the lighting of a candle and staring out my window at the falling snowflakes. Both add light to the darkness of the season. I find so much joy in snow; for me, it not only scatters light in the darkness but also creates a feeling of being cocooned by love and belonging. Growing up in the Midwest, snow used to bring our neighborhood together as shovels and sleds were brought out, and children were giddy with the joy and adventure created by this white blanket of change and hope. Those feelings resurface each time this powder of light falls from the sky, no matter what is happening in my life.

Darkness can tighten its grasp on us during this season of endings and beginnings. It can be hard to find the light around us. This is why holiday lights and decorations mean so much to me. During the darkest time of the year, they add color, light, and feelings of hope. This holiday season I have spent most of my time in the light. The house is beaming with color and anticipation of the season. I saw friends, imagined what gifts might bring delight to those I love, lit candles thinking of them as a tool to break through the inky darkness that came earlier and earlier each day.

Out of the blue, darkness swelled in my home as one of my sons arrived for the holidays with a box of what remained of their father’s belongings. These had been stored out of sight in their stepmother’s home since their dad died of addiction several years ago. When word came that my ex-husband had died, the first veil of darkness to be faced was how to walk the path of grief with my older sons. As my son sat sorting through his dad’s belongings, questions long buried beneath years of healing unexpectedly resurfaced, nearly dragging me back into despair’s abyss. I had chosen to leave the marriage because of his use of alcohol. Had I turned my back when he needed me most by choosing separation and ultimately divorce? Did that necessary decision somehow accelerate his decline rather than provide incentive for change? Raw emotions and unfair self-judgment enveloped my heart all over again, challenging hard-won personal growth and healing as I sat watching my son sort through what was left of his dad. My heart was breaking for him, and my guilt and shame were blanketing me in darkness.

Some called my divorce an act of cowardice, accusing me of abandoning the vow to stand by in partnership when we were hit by adversity’s gale rather than finding my footing as waves crashed harder. I tried. I worked at it. At the time, I so wanted the outcome to be different. Sobriety for us all. Prayers. Therapy. Tears, knowing there were three of us in a marriage, the third constant companion being alcohol and other substances. Many said after the divorce that my ex-husband could not move forward out of his addiction because I broke his heart. Wearing blame’s shackles through rawest grief, only over time did I recognize them as artificial constructs constraining my well-being. Healing showed me that preventing someone else's battle with addiction isn't within my control. Fate and choice and access to care often determine such outcomes. We all navigate our inner struggles quietly, just doing our best when unexpected choices arise.

As I continued to sit there, witnessing my son sift through the remnants of his father, my heart ached for him, and a suffocating blanket of guilt and shame descended upon me, pulling me back into what I thought was behind me. I did all I could to support him as he pulled out the photos and childhood mementos that belonged to his father. After we gathered all the items up and packed them back in the treasured box, he moved on to Tik Tok and phone calls with friends. For me, the night was ending as a moonless one deep in my soul, where even the stars of resilience that I had seen for years were obscured.

Amidst the tightening grip of that darkness, I found solace in the company of compassionate friends. I texted that I was in trouble, and they invited me over for coffee. How do you hold space for your son’s grief and your own shame and self-doubt? We sat for hours, sharing stories, laughter, and tears. Their capacity to listen and love me unconditionally served as a comforting anchor while I navigated the reemerging currents of pain and uncertainty. In those moments, their simple act of being there, offering warmth and understanding, became a lifeline countering the isolation that darkness often brings. It was as if their presence cast a gentle glow, gradually pushing back the shadows, and allowing rays of light to be seen again. They reminded me of the beauty of humanness – while it is flawed, it is also full of courage and resilience. In their company, I was reminded of the strength within vulnerability, the power in embracing imperfections, and the beauty that emerges when we navigate life’s challenges with authenticity. They also reminded me that they know all of me and love me anyway. A gift without wrapping paper and fancy bows was just what I needed.

I also needed a meeting. I discovered Al-Anon, a support group designed for those affected by someone else's alcoholism, after my ex-husband's death. This unique community has been a transformative force in my life. Al-Anon provides a haven where individuals grappling with the impact of a loved one's addiction can share their experiences, strength, and hope. Through the collective wisdom of Al-Anon, I have found incredible power in community, shared understanding, and empathy. During my own grief and confusion, while I was hoping to support my sons in their grief,  Al-Anon offered a lifeline, connecting me with others who navigated similar challenges. The group became a source of guidance, teaching me coping mechanisms, fostering resilience, and ultimately helping me release my anger towards my ex-husband as I came to understand that he was sick.

In reflecting on my journey, I hope my son finds Al-Anon as well. It could be a valuable resource in his healing process. Al-Anon's motto, "Take what you like and leave the rest," resonates deeply with me. It underscores the idea that each of us must find our path to healing on our terms, at our own pace. This philosophy embraces the uniqueness of our individual journeys, encouraging self-discovery and personal growth as we navigate the complexities of life and relationships impacted by addiction.

This reflection on the interplay of light and darkness reminds me that the journey to healing is ongoing, marked by moments of both clarity and uncertainty. The New Year beckons with the promise of new beginnings, and as I welcome its arrival, I carry the lessons learned from both the light and the darkness. May the snowflakes continue to fall gently, each one a reminder that even in the coldest of seasons, there is beauty, there is hope, and there is light to guide us forward.