I am a lighthouse.
Or at least, I’m trying to be one. For you, mama.
I’ve always held a romantic view of lighthouses. They stand on rough shorelines, emitting a a bright light that slices through darkness and fog, to keep ships and the people on them safe. They are strong, tall, shining beacons of assurance during nighttime and storms.
“The land is right here,” some of them say. “Take comfort in knowing that land is right here, and steer away from these rocky shores. I am here to keep you safe from dangerous waters. See my light, and take care to steer your ship safely away.”
In Duluth, Minnesota, where I went to college, there’s a canal that ships enter to drop off their cargo in the city’s safe harbor. There’s a small lighthouse at the end of each concrete pier, extending out into the lake to guide ships safely through. I can only imagine that these lighthouses are an incredibly welcome sight for ships coming in from across the wide expanse of Lake Superior.
“You’ve made it to safe harbor,” they say. “Let us guide you with our lights to your destination. Take care to steer directly between us to sail safely through the piers.”
Those are two very different kinds of lighthouses, but they serve similar purposes: guidance and safety.
That’s what I want to do, with this blog and with Courageous Mothers, and just with my personal life in general. I want to be a lighthouse for you, dear friend. If you’re reading my blogs, chances are you’re navigating a perilous, storm-whipped sea of grief. A huge part of me is right there with you, but another small part is on shore, acting as a lighthouse.
I want to be a shining light that pierces your darkness,
that guides you to safety,
that provides you with comfort,
that leads you away from rocky shores,
and guides you to safe harbors.
Find comfort in my midst,
be sheltered by my light.
Rest your battered ship for just a moment
here in this safe, tranquil space.
My compassion and empathy for you all is so great, I feel as if I’ll burst. I remember, in my first couple weeks of being a “loss mom”, I was desperate for a lighthouse. Desperate for something or someone to guide me, to save me, to let me rest a moment, to find just a little comfort in. So, I took to the internet, and I found just that.
I found so many voices of so many other moms that have been through a devastating loss. So many, in fact, that I was shocked. You truly do not know how widely and unfairly the fingers of baby loss reach until you’re forced to live in their grasp. At the same time, though, I found abundant comfort. I read the grief-stricken words, written by other moms, that sounded just like mine. I felt an instant kinship with these women – these broken yet strong individuals who’ve all been touched by tragedy.
Now, I still sink deeply into my own storm-swept waves of grief, but I hope that writing about them will make my your lighthouse.
Read my words and join the community to find comfort, understanding, and solidarity.
I hope that my pieces of the internet can be safe harbors for you.
I hope to be a lighthouse.