Inner Darkness

Ever since I was a little girl, I've had an aversion to darkness.

At nighttime, I would avoid going to bed, not because I wasn't tired, but because when that time came, all of the lights went out.

My parents learned this early on, and always made sure to leave a light on for me.

I remember one particular night, when I was about four years old, my mom came to tuck me into bed, and I asked her to wrap my blankets around me to protect me from the darkness. Of course she obliged, but then, she asked me what I meant. I expressed my fears about the dark, and asked her what would happen if all of the lights went out forever. I don't remember her exact words, but it was something to the effect of "If that happens, Holly, I will be the light in your darkness."


In the days and weeks since mom has passed, I've had this overwhelming sense of doom at nighttime. I almost can't bear it when the sun goes down, and I have to face the night alone. I had thought that the reason nighttime was so hard was because that was when we would go visit her, I chalked it up to a change in routine, and I'm sure that is a part of it.

What I hadn't realized is that there is a deeper meaning for me. I have started thinking about darkness recently, mostly because of the lunar eclipse, and I realized that missing my mom is the soul-ar eclipse of my life.

She was my light in the darkness. She loved and guided me when I needed it most, and her light is missing in my life.

We're headed into the time of the year where the days grow shorter, and the nights get longer, and for someone who is grieving her source of light, that is utterly terrifying.
No amount of lamps or candles could reignite the light within me that she kindled. I'm not certain that anything will fill that space again, or fuel that flame. But I will spend my days exuding light for others, until our souls meet again.

And to her I say, "Since it happened, Mama, I will search for your light in my darkness."