photo by Hide Obara

photo by Hide Obara

All is grace, yeah. 

But sometimes life takes us by cold-shock surprise. And in times so unexpected like these, we need to bring the darkness into Light – with others.

This is one of the newest chapters of my story, written with the hope that through these words, I inch closer to experiencing grace. In everything and at all times.

(I apologize if this is vague at times, bear with me):

Heart-panic. Hesitate. Pulse racing. Fingers dial. Body reels. Voice whispers denial. Remember: breathe in, out. Blur of red and blue light up black night— longest hour— I hear them coming from afar now. Questions, too many. Pace. Phone flung into other hands. Closer. Feet flee. Voice on autopilot, steady. Faces rush. More questions. Memories burned into retina, permanent. Process— try. Numb. Clear.

I knew what was happening.

I knew before I really knew.

Even when I whispered this can’t be really happening.

Are my eyes still dreaming, closed shut? Wake up, wake up.

How do I write when recall is red-bright, fresh? Lord knows.

But I need to tell you something.

It’s really important: there’s something you can do.

For the others. For those you hold dear-to-heart and those you brush elbows past without knowing.

Bare arms. Boots on. Out there, someone said. Breath floats up into winter air. I’m not cold. Eyes squint. Truck door opens. Familiar face. Relief. I stretch toward. Shoulders, gripped. Collapse. Embrace. Cry. Release. Fingers intertwine. Her steps follow behind mine until every car leaves. Later. I stare at window patterns. Stories shared. Hearts wrenched open. Eyes lock. Peace spoken. Faith.

There’s something you should know.

The best thing you can do, brave woman, is be there.

Simply be there.

Be. There.

We don’t know what may come and when— but we were never meant to do it alone.

Even when they say they’re fine and shock doesn’t seem to have etched itself onto their face, make your presence known. Even when weeks pass and time runs forward, don’t forget. And even when restlessness creases under their eyes and they stop mentioning that they can’t sleep anymore, fight alongside them. Even when it’s hard. Even when you’d rather pretend.

Love them hard with a God-love: fierce. Hug their necks. Say words, or don’t – just be there. Please.

And maybe they’ll bring to birth the words they need to fish out of the dark. And maybe they’ll break in your arms. And maybe they’ll say absolutely nothing at all.

And know you are doing far more than you can ever possibly imagine. Really.

-Christine Vezarov // @thisbechristine

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