The Light Sitting With You in the Dark

The lock clicks. A small, desperate sound in the deep night.

You sit on the cold tile, hand over your own mouth, terrified that the sound of your breaking might wake the small sleeper down the hall. You think this silence makes you strong.

You think hiding the tears protects them. But the light does not need you to be quiet to be near you.

It is not waiting for you to pull yourself together before it enters. It is already sitting on the floor with you, in the dark, holding the pieces you cannot carry alone.

You came from the light, the place where light generates itself—and that same light is generating hope right now, beneath your grief. The door is locked to the world, but it is not locked to the One who sees what is done in secret.

You are not failing your child by weeping. You are teaching them that even in the darkest hour, no one is ever truly alone.