New year.
New goals.
Some of us make a list of resolutions we plan to achieve. As much as I write, I’ve listed my goals in my mind. It brings a positive and hopeful light.
A new year brings a sense of renewal.
Even at the end of 2020 when most people faced a challenging and dark time, there were still some who hoped 2021 would bring a change. The years, 2020 and 2021, have presented their challenges and situations on our darkest days which define our character and humanity. They are the times that lead us to reflection, and somehow even at the end of those, we can find hope.
We all hope for a moment of renewal, a break, or a sign of hope.
Sometimes we’re tested even more than we ever imagined.
Since Corrie’s death, my writing has changed from the immediate, raw emotions following such a loss. I never erase those posts, apologize, nor delete them because they are a part of the journey. They are part of a search for a deeper understanding.
My writing has ventured into reflection, and that’s what I write today. I wish with all my heart to write about goals, and a light showing itself.
But I must, again, find my internal grit, and face the world with what has happened and what will come.
I will make it through this dark time. If you’re still going through a dark time no one understands, this is when you’ll find your grit, too.
This year, I miscarried, and faced our first angel anniversary on May 27. I dreaded the entire month of May. At the end of this year, my husband of 10 years, John, was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer. He started chemo after we returned from vacation.
For years, John and I have sometimes faced challenges from certain segments of his family that are so different than my own. My mother taught me to not air out drama. Unfortunately, I became a writer, and I know my mother will support me in this moment as I reflect on …
how someone, not a stranger, can touch my daughter’s grave.
John’s brother, a recently released felon, and his family members have every right to bring flowers to his parents’ grave. Our daughter, Corrie, is buried next to her paternal grandfather. Bob loved his youngest granddaughter much to the disgust and annoyance of certain segments of John’s family.
John, his sister, and our son also have a right to visit and decorate their parents’ grave. Representing my husband, I put poinsettias and a church at the head of his parents’ grave just as I did last year to honor them because it is emotionally hard for my husband. I’ve cut the grass around their graves just as I’ve done for Corrie, the 40 children and babies on Corrie’s Kinder Memorial Walk, and veterans buried near them.
The poinsettias, the little garden fence guarding them, and a wooden white church were put on Corrie’s grave by John’s brother and his family members not once, but three times.
An individual, arrested on child pornography charges, and his family tossed poinsettias placed in love and faith on a child’s grave.
Think about that for a minute.
They were tossed the first time on their side as if they were trash bags with leaves in a suburban neighborhood. Then they were placed a second and third time.
Now my husband, sister-in-law, and I have reached an agreement on certain aspects for now, but when I wonder what to do about a situation …
I write.
I share the poem below and the beauty of Corrie’s grave lit up for Christmas as a reminder that even in the darkest of times, my little girl lights up the sky.
Corrie, I love you always and forever.
Rebecca T. Dickinson
Corrie's Season 