Toward the Lantern

The small house on the edge of the shore had stood for as long as Ellie could remember. Nestled between jagged rocks and swaying pines, it had been a place of quiet comfort—a home full of warmth, laughter, and love. Yet, since her mother passed away, the house had felt colder, emptier. The rooms that once echoed with joyful voices now held nothing but silence.

It had been a year since her mother’s death, a year filled with grief, lingering questions, and an overwhelming sense of loss. Ellie had spent most of the past year avoiding the house, preferring the solitude of the nearby forest or the quiet, empty beach. But something had shifted that summer. The weather was warmer, the days longer, and something deep within Ellie whispered that it was time to return to the shore.

That morning, she packed her bag and set out to the house, the place where she and her mother had spent countless hours, making memories. The house looked unchanged, the same familiar green shutters and whitewashed walls standing against the backdrop of the sea. But as Ellie stepped inside, she felt an unfamiliar heaviness in her chest. The silence was deafening.

Her father was already sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window toward the lighthouse that stood proudly on a cliff in the distance. He hadn’t said much since her mother passed, and today was no different. His once vibrant face now looked tired, worn by grief. The light in his eyes seemed dimmer, as though something deep inside him had been lost forever.

“Hi, Dad,” Ellie said softly, sitting down beside him.

He glanced at her and offered a faint smile. “You’re here.”

Ellie nodded, but the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat. How could she explain the need she felt to return to this place? To face the grief she’d been avoiding for so long? The house felt like a memory, frozen in time, and she didn’t know how to move forward.

For a while, they sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Then Ellie stood up and grabbed her coat from the back of the chair.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said.

Her father didn’t protest. He simply nodded and returned to staring out the window.

The sky was overcast as Ellie walked down the familiar path leading to the beach. The waves crashed gently against the shore, the air filled with the scent of salt and seaweed. The lighthouse loomed in the distance, its beam cutting through the gray fog like a beacon of hope. Ellie had always loved the lighthouse. It was a constant, something that never wavered, never changed. It stood tall through the storms, lighting the way for those who needed it.

As she reached the edge of the water, Ellie stopped. She could see her reflection in the waves, her face framed by the distant lighthouse. It was as though the sea was speaking to her, calling her back to something she had forgotten—something she had been avoiding.

She thought of her mother, of the summers they spent together on this beach. They would walk hand in hand along the shore, collecting seashells, talking about life, about dreams, and about the future. Her mother had always believed in the power of the lighthouse, the way it stood tall against the darkness, guiding those who were lost. Ellie remembered her mother saying, “No matter how far you drift, there will always be a light to guide you back home.”

But now, in the quiet of her grief, Ellie didn’t know if she could believe that. The light of the lighthouse felt distant, as if it no longer shone for her.

Ellie stood there for what felt like hours, lost in thought. Finally, she turned back to the house, her heart heavy with the weight of memories. She was about to head inside when she noticed a small boat on the shore, bobbing gently in the water. It was old, its paint chipped, but it was still sturdy.

A sudden impulse took hold of her. She walked toward the boat and untied the rope, pushing it into the water. The boat creaked under her weight as she climbed in, the small oars resting beside her.

As she rowed out toward the lighthouse, Ellie felt a sense of calm wash over her. The rhythm of the oars was soothing, the water gentle against the sides of the boat. The lighthouse grew larger with each stroke, its light cutting through the fog, guiding her forward. The distance between her and the shore seemed to shrink, and with it, the weight of her grief.

The lighthouse was closer now, its light warm and steady in the darkening sky. Ellie pulled the boat up onto the rocky shore and climbed out. She stood before the lighthouse, the cool wind whipping through her hair. She had never been this close before, never had the courage to make the journey on her own. But today felt different. Today, she wasn’t running away. She was facing the light.

As Ellie gazed up at the lighthouse, she realized something. The light wasn’t just a beacon. It was a symbol of endurance, of hope. No matter how dark the world became, the light always shone. It never stopped, never faltered. And neither would she.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, Ellie felt something shift inside her. The grief wasn’t gone, but it no longer controlled her. She could move forward. She could heal.

When she returned to the house, her father was still sitting at the table, but now he looked up when she walked in. His eyes were clearer, more focused.

“You went to the lighthouse, didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

Ellie nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I think I understand it now, Dad.”

And for the first time since her mother’s passing, Ellie truly felt the light guiding her home.