DECEMBER 29
In a dark time, the eye begins to see.
—THEODORE ROETHKEWhen one walks out into darkness, at first it is hard to see
anything. Then the eyes adapt to this loss of light and, bit
by bit, we begin to see—probably to see things we’d have
passed over quickly had we walked by them in full light.
Something like that happens with suffering. Not that we
would have chosen it. Not that we like it at all. But after a
while, against our will, against our better judgment, we
realize that we have acquired some wisdom through all this
pain. Our sense of what is important is heightened. We’re
not so easily disturbed by petty things. We may make differ-
ent uses of our time. Perhaps we reevaluate the demands
we make of ourselves and drop some from the list. It was
quite a revelation to me to realize in the wake of my
daughter’s death that I didn’t have to take responsibility for
the social ease of any situation in which I found myself.
There are worse things than awkward silences.
We will probably find, among other things, that we are
drawn to those who are experiencing fresh grief. We, more
than most, can stand with them, so that in their dark time
they will begin to see.
We who have dwelt in darkness begin to see.