On a conversation I have held with the moon about grieving:
- Isabel Nkosi
- Aug 16, 2017
- 2 min read
1. Grieving has left an eternal bitter after taste in my heart. And it feels like parts of myself have died as well. There is this sense of incompleteness I am slowly adjusting to.
2. I have found myself thanking God for the moon for being the closest thing to company when I’m held hostage by midnight pain. 3am will find me on my knees, soaked in prayer. The moon then becomes what my heart has come to know as a tangible hope by how it continues to shine in the midst of darkness.
3. The moon knows the version of me that finds itself digging for the beauty in falling apart and never finding it.
4. I’ve stopped thinking that I need someone besides me. People like me are meant to be alone. Just like the moon, we bloom even when there no one is around to see.
5. I knew how alone I was meant to be when I lost the one whose presence used to defy the laws of loneliness. He was always there. He taught me how to get along with the voices in my head for the times when he couldn’t be around.
6. When he died, the voices in my head went to war with each other
7. These voices remind me with every moment that no one is ever around when you need them the most. Living that truth was a constant reminder that besides God I had no one.
8. I convinced myself that grieving is a journey you embark on your own, only to learn deep into the journey that you can’t do it by yourself
9. But then again, it is the absence of the ones we love that teaches us how to pray.
10. So just like the moon, I’d shine in the darkest hours of my life alone in the mercy of God.
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