Delicate Whispers of Hope

October 15, 2020

You whisper “goodbye” so softly you almost can’t hear the words yourself, immediately followed by “I love you”.  You will walk out of this room and this place with one less person. Immediately minus one out in the world, but never in your heart. Absent of a special life and soul, but not absent of the love. That kind of distinct love remains, always. Even when the world can’t see it. Even when the world no longer understands. 

The tears stream down your face as you turn and face the door. You will leave this room completely different than before. Your soul has been decomposed. Your heart has been shattered. Eventually you will be faced with the restructuring, but for now, you ensure it’s all tucked away and saved for later. 

You pause, unable to take steps further away from the one you love. You know the next time you meet, only one set of eyes will be open, and only one heart still beating. While it feels like the world has stopped and that your breath has been stolen, just like the person who left, you glance into the hallway and see that to everyone else, things are still going. Life is still in motion. You’re disappointed and confused.  

As you reach the outside, you’re instantly blinded by light. Bold. Brillant. Bright. It hurts your already sensitive eyes. How can there be such powerful light when all you feel is darkness? You can feel the warmth, and for a quick second, you feel comfort in the heat. You feel hope in the illuminating streak of light. You’ve never believed in angels, but this very moment might be changing that. Your tears slow as if some outer force has wrapped around you providing peace and immense strength. You don’t understand it, but you also don’t have the energy to try. 

You remain completely broken but something about this moment has repurposed your perspective and pain. As the sun radiates brighter than before, you feel a breeze sweep over you. As it gently moves the hair near your face, you hear something. 

A faint whisper. 

A voice.

Words. 

Almost too silent to be heard or acknowledged. 

You wonder if this is a consequence of grief, hearing things that couldn’t possibly be real. Before you can ponder your delusions and the irrational whispers, it’s there again. The radiant light, the swift breeze, and the sound, still barely heard but delicately recognizable. 

“I love you, and I’ll continue loving you from eternity. It’s beautiful here.”

You look around, there is no one, just you, the light, and the treasured breeze that brought these whispers. You’re still not sure if you believe in angels or the unique mumbles of the breeze speaking directly to your heart. Either way, you’ve been given hope. 

The hope to believe. 

The hope for comfort.

The hope for understanding.

The hope for acceptance.

The hope for healing and purpose and trust.

The hope that you’ll be able to live through this unimaginable grief. 

Hope. New and meaningful.  

It’s more than you had just minutes ago, so you take another step and gently wipe your eyes. You replace the strands of hair that have found your face, and you breathe again. You still leave broken, shattered, and heartbroken, but you also leave with hope. 

And broken with hope is better than just broken. 

xox, Chels

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Chelsea Ohlemiller

Chelsea Ohlemiller

A thirty-something wife, mother and educator who has Indiana roots and a passionate spirit. Chelsea is a sappy romantic, coffee junkie, book collector, and person who wears her heart on her sleeve. She’s sarcastic, full of jokes, full of tears, and enjoys writing most when life gets messy or complicated. In 2017, Chelsea's mother passed away. Through her grief journey, she decided to take her mother’s advice and share her writing with the world. One day she gained the courage to honor her mother's wishes and write. It turned out to be one of the best decisions she's ever made.

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