(This picture was taken by my husband – the night sky over the corn field 

across the street from us – isn’t he amazing?) 

When the
grief you carry 

wears your
face into a thousand 

heavy lines,
when the sadness 

feels like a
knife splitting 

your very
body in two, 

night will
come at last. 

With the
children tucked safe 

in their
beds, you will stand 

in the
doorway of your own 

room and the night 

will welcome
you with its wide, 

and gentle embrace.  

How can I
explain that this 

is what you
need, what you 

have waited
for, this knowing 

that the
darkness is nothing 

fear?  You will lie down 

on your bed,
half curled 

around the
old, old wound, 

with your
face turned toward 

windows.  Weeping, 

your eyes
will search 

outlines of
trees, the few 

bright stars
captured in your 


Now that you
are no longer afraid, 

the night
will hold you with its velvet 

love, the
emptiness of the darkness 

sidling up
against you as the well 

of grief
pours out. 

something comforting 

about the
darkness,” you will tell 

your husband
when he finds you there. 

like the night, he will curl 

around you offering not words, 

but himself
to hold you, his flesh 

echoing in physicality
the sweet 

silent night
that draws you close.   

This post is linked with Playdates with God and Unforced Rhythms.

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