I am going through photographs of life that I have taken over the last few years. I have certain ways that I like to shoot photos: The rule of thirds. Shooting into the sun. Shooting close-up. A consistent theme is the way that I look for the sun. Maybe the sun is my reminder that even bad days will end and the next day may be better.

When you are grieving, missing your baby, each day may feel the same. Gray and drab. Raw. Endless. “The foreverness,” as one of my beautiful clients said. An endless loop of “Groundhog Day”. It can be a terrible place of hopelessness and numbness.  There is no getting around it. Life is changed forever.

And then the sun comes up the next day.

We humans are really interesting. We seem to have some supply of hope that the sun really will shine again, even when everything within says no and never. We are afraid to believe in dreams and hopes after devastation.  But we do. We have to look for the sun sometimes.

And then the sun comes up the next day.

You might be startled to wake up one morning and not feel like an elephant is sitting on your chest.  It may only be for just a minute. It can be very surprising. You don’t have to feel guilty about that. That’s what being a human is about. Things can change for the worse and for the better. Hope sneaks in.  The rainbow after the terrible storm.  Here’s the thing: the “You” you were before devastating loss is still in there.  Somewhere. You are the same and way different now. And we love you just the way you are.

The same client who talked about “the foreverness” of her grief had her rainbow baby.  She came in one day and told me that she could not have believed that her life would feel worth waking up for.  She could see and feel the warmth of the sun and life around her.  And the possibility that safety and happiness were real.  She could take the risk of looking for the sun. And know that the sun will come up the next day.

 

 

Yes, look for the sun.

The rainbow can come to you.

Keep some hope alive.

 

All photographs by Dr. Deborah Simmons.

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