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Meadowlark Hospice

Dawn's Notes

Dawn's Notes

Walking In The Dark - October 2018
by Dawn Phelps, RN/LMSW

During the summertime when my sisters and I visited our grandparents in Tennessee the weather was usually very hot and sunny.  So the brook that we called “the branch” was good place for us to wade and splash in the water to cool off. 

The branch was a fun place.  It was a babbling stream with tadpoles, frogs and minnows.  Watercress grew along the edge in abundance, and I remember my grandmother talking about eating it, but I never tried it.       

During the summer, the branch was a happy place.  But it was totally different on Halloween night.  That night the world took on an ominous atmosphere when my sisters and I traipsed alongside the stream, dressed like ghosts and goblins, on our way to visit an older couple who lived in a cabin up the hollow.    

By October 31 the warm days of summer had usually been replaced with the chill of autumn.  Our Halloween garbs usually consisted of old clothes several sizes too big us, and we were at risk of getting tangled up in them and falling.  But we thought we had the coolest outfits ever when we dressed up for Halloween!      

Our old masks with too-small eye holes made it difficult to see well as we carefully made our way alongside the branch in the dark. We had to walk single file down a narrow path, following my sister Joy who was five years older than I.  She held the only flashlight that lit the path in front of us, so we had to trust that she knew the way to the cabin and that the battery would not give out. 

To complicate things, my mask migrated around my face and the “eye holes” did not stay in place.  I had to frequently adjust my mask, and as I breathed the cool air in and out through my mouth, the mask became wet and cold from the moisture.  

We had to cross the stream on rocks protruding from the water—our stepping stones.  But in the dark we often missed the rocks or they flipped on us, and we got our feet wet, or worse, we fell in the water. 

It was easy to imagine that “something” might be watching us from the darkness—a bobcat, a screech owl, or something bigger?   I remember shivering from the possibilities, and sometimes I was physically cold, wishing I had worn a coat, but I had not wanted to cover up my costume.

Traveling beside a stream in the dark was very different from when the sun was shining.  During the day, the sun illuminated our way.  Yet, in the dark, it was difficult to see what was ahead with only a flickering pencil-thin light from a flashlight.  Even though it was the same familiar stream, the same location, the darkness made it frightening.      

Before my husband died of kidney cancer a few years ago, life was good, similar to walking alongside a bubbling brook in the daytime. It was easy for us to see our way and imagine our future.

Even though our lives had a few “bumps” along the way, we believed that good things were ahead—time to see our grandchildren grow up, retirement, and some fun years.     

After my husband died, I felt like I was following a narrow path up the hollow in the dark with only a small flickering light.  I felt like a different person, like a small child, wearing too-large, ill-fitting clothes and a mask that partially blinded my path.  Grief was frightening!   

If you have experienced a loss, even though life will never be the same, it can be rewarding.  Nighttime will not last forever.  There are sunsets followed by nighttime, then the sun comes up again.  You will have ups and downs, but there is a future waiting for you.   

 If you fall down, like a young child falling into a stream on a chilly Halloween night, pick yourself off, and dry yourself off.  Watch for the smallest beams of light to light your path, and just keep walking.        

Call about the next "Living Life after Loss" Group at:
Meadowlark Hospice 709 Liberty Clay Center, Kansas
(785) 632-2225
Dawn Phelps, RN/LMSW, Group Facilitator