Hello,
darkness my old friend.
I’ve come to
talk with you again.
I do not love the dark.
I love Simon and Garfunkel, and Sounds of Silence is
to my mind one of the greatest songs ever written. But darkness is not my
friend.
Decades ago the Muppet Babies sang about how good things happen in
the dark (which sounds weirdly inappropriate now). I recently heard a podcast
about embracing dark moments, but I do not love the dark, and as October
marches towards November, the dark grows increasingly pervasive. I may have to talk with the dark again, but it is not generally a friendly conversation.
The physical dark oppresses me. Years ago when we
remodeled our kitchen, I had the electrician install pendant lights, lights in
the upper glass cabinets, a light over the sink, and recessed lights all
through the rest of the ceiling. You could land a jet in my kitchen, it’s like
a runway’s worth of lights. On cloudy
dark mornings I turn on EVERY LIGHT I CAN GET TO. My husband loses his mind, he
likes the cavelike darkness, but I NEED THE LIGHT.
Last year I finally bought one of those light box
things to try and help me deal with my increasingly challenged zen in the fall
and winter months. I am not sure if shining super bright light into my pupils
for 20-30 minutes a day is actually going to help my body produce more
serotonin, but I figure it’s worth a try, even if I only get a placebo effect
out of it.
I have little light up bottles and tea lights and
big candles and fake candles that change color and decorative lights and LIGHTS
GALORE. And still, I am ready to hide by about 7:38 these days. When I walk the
dog in the morning now I need my “please don’t run me over!” blinking
flashlight/lantern combo. IN THE MORNING. Ugh.
The physical darkness of these months is compounded
by the darkness in society right now, the anger and fear and name calling and
loathing that seem omnipresent. I am making a conscious (albeit not super
successful) effort to stay OFF social media for more of the day, to not check
the news except for BBC so I know what is going on in the world—even that is
pretty dark, but it isn’t the slickly marketed darkness that the US News wallows
in these days. This kind of darkness
weighs on my soul. A lot.
Our personal history of this time of year is pretty,
dark, too. Maybe that contributes to some of my lack of focus, my feeling like
I need to be super proactive to fight off the gloom? In November of 2004 my
daughter epically failed her first chemo—something I could not even fathom, at
the time. This was supposed to work for
7 out of 10 kids. G was in the 3. We were devastated. In October of 2005 she
ended chemo number 2 and found out that she had progression, and had to start
the incredibly difficult season of chemo #3. Note to self, never scan on
Halloween. December/January of that year were some of the darkest of our story,
as G’s port broke and floated into her pulmonary artery, she developed
cellulitis around the new port site, spent 10 days inpatient with
infection/neutropenia (a first), and then had an MRI that indicated malignant
transformation and a potential death sentence for our 7 year old.
No number of tea lights will take the edge off THAT.
December of 2011 is when everything started again,
tumor progression, shunt surgery, a clinical trial. These months are DARK.
I just finished reading Thomas Merton’s New Seeds of
Contemplation, and he talks a lot about the dark, and about finding God there
(or God finding us there…this book is so deep, I feel like I need to read it 18
more times before I can begin to scratch the surface of what Merton knew). He also talks a lot about just BEING, not
DOING.
Ugh. I am the worst at Being. Especially in these
dark days. For me being turns into sleeping.
But really—in the moments of being, moments of light
can be found. In being there for my kid who needs to talk…in being outside with
my dog who needs to snoofle, just being in that moment, listening to the
squirrels in the crunchy leaves and knowing they are squirrels and not giant
bears of impending doom…in being in the moment as I make dinner, or work on
some art, or sweep a floor, I can see some light in these moments.
And not to go all last century political on things,
but if I can look around a little, if I can just try to set aside the reality
of the dark for a moment, I can see a thousand points of light in the good
people are doing, in the happy dog/owner reunion videos I keep watching, in the
generosity of our neighbors when my kid goes door to door asking for donations
for her Appalachia trip. The prayers of
friends for each other, the support people offer to those in need, the smile
from a person at a store or a cheerful conversation with a gas station
attendant—all of these are points of light.
That image of a thousand points of light is so
timely. We can’t do a whole lot about the pervasive darkness—but we can all be
points of light for each other—even today, even in the fraught climate of yikes
that threatens to make our future impenetrably dark.
I am trying. Failing a LOT, but trying to be more
a point of light than another layer of
darkness. My own darkness is pretty mighty, my resentment over injustices done
to people I love, my frustration with mind blowing hypocrisy, my impatience
with one of my children seeming to want to be on the tv show Hoarders. My own darkness sticks like sap to so much of
what I try to do, and I hate that. I
want to be a point of light.
I need to be at peace with the physical darkness
around, and with our family’s own personal darkness associated with this time
of year. Both of these will pass or HAVE passed, and I need to take hope in
that. I do take hope in that. As for the dark in society—well, I just have to
try harder every day to be a point of light. To share “the good things people need
to hear”. To create words/art/moments that bring light to people. To make people laugh. To support friends and reach out and not just hide under my blankets
until some theoretical spring.
So—let’s do it. Let me know ways you know to be a
point of light. How can we collectively
shine together…to paraphrase, to be a light in the darkness, that the darkness shall not overcome?
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Our first fundraiser for the Children's Tumor Foundation was
in 2006, just after the terrible MRI of January. The years of support
from so many people shines on for us as a point of light, a little candle in the darkness.
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