All Survive the Night

Softly creeping in the dark;
quietly weeping at night.
 
Stars dance in the midnight blue sky,
moon sits watching, at night.
 
Silence reigns as weeping fades
at night.

Dawn arrives, birds arise.
All survive the night. 

Donna Denise © 1982 


I wrote the above as a teenager after spending a few hours gazing out my bedroom window at the moon one evening. It was written during what felt then like a rather dark, difficult period in my life and spoke to the belief I held deep within me that somehow I would get past it—that morning would come and with it renewed hope for more joyful experiences. And, if I'm honest, more joyful experiences did come.

Last night as I was headed back home after visiting with my mom, I paused to look up at the sky, for what reason I'm not entirely certain, and was awestruck by the beauty and majesty of the first full moon of this year. It loomed so large and bright in the sky I felt as if it were somehow close enough to reach without benefit of a rocket. The picture I took doesn't begin to capture what I saw as I stared up at the night's sky.

Yesterday marked two weeks since my dad died. I had spent the past three years helping to care for my dad and fighting along with him and for him against the hateful disease that was robbing him of his memories, his intellect, his physical strength, his vibrant personality, his joy, and even his faith. In the face of every dire diagnosis we received of his medical condition, his declining ability to manage his own personal care, and increasing loss of mental function and awareness, I clung to hope that things could, would turn around. My dad had taught me that to those who are willing to take a stand in faith—to be persistent and resolute about what you believe—miracles are not only possible, but they do happen.

Since my dad's death, I have felt lost, numb, confused, dazed, angry, heartbroken, and a host of other emotions I can't easily describe. Or perhaps, don't want to. I've also tried to just make peace with it. After all, what else can I do? Certainly can't change it.

Yet, as I stood admiring the moon last night, I began to experience a shift, albeit a subtle one, in my feelings. I felt an assurance that somehow, some way all would be well again, would feel well again, and that real peace would come one moment at a time.

Silence reigns as weeping fades at night. Dawn arrives, birds arise. All survive the night.