Fourteen years ago, as our country reeled from the tragic events on the East coast, I was a college student in the mountains of Colorado. Hollow-eyed and apathetic, I was reeling from the tragic and unexpected loss of my beloved grandfather six months earlier. The grief of September 11th is etched into our collective memory. That day the pain of thousands laid raw my already heavy heart. My grandfather’s death was the first, big loss I faced in my young life. The pain seemed insurmountable, I couldn’t see a way beyond the hole in my heart and the pain of an entire nation in mourning.
Hollowed out by the shocking circumstances of my loss, the World Trade Center tragedy was further evidence of a bleak, heartless world. I sank further into depression and apathy, wallowing in pain and making poor, alcohol fueled decisions. Time passed. Almost imperceptibly, the tragic filter through which I viewed the world began to shift. No singular “Aha!” moment stands out in my memory; there was no distinct turning point.
Healing begins when you start to notice tiny miracles of the spirit. The beauty of light, a stranger’s smile, and a passing birdsong. As I begin noticing and indulging in observing nature, connecting with humans and animals alike, the raw edges of my heartbreak began to heal.
It is no mistake, I noticed the drama of the sunset silhouetting my grandfather’s Aermotor windmill on the anniversary of September 11th. The possibility of tragedy is the price we pay for the gift of life. I struggled before I found the bravery to open myself up to the world, fourteen years ago. Undoubtedly, I will struggle again. But I know now, that true grace is found in gratitude and love, in the face of pain.
love this! More please.