The Dark

With the click of the light switch it would start, my heart would start to pound, I’d start feeling the walls for the light switch I already knew wasn’t there. I would look all around to no avail while the world felt like it was dropping form under my feet. I always knew what was next like Pavlov’s dog it was a repeated pattern…the shriek coming from deep in my brother’s lungs would pierce the air and assault my ears like some sort of sonic retribution. I grab him and pull him in tight to me and try telling him not to worry, but let’s be honest, the dark is scary and 4-year old’s cannot be reasoned with.

As a child, having older cousins lock me in the darkness of a windowless bathroom is one of the most fearful memories I held onto for far too long. What I am sure was not meant to be traumatic but just boys having fun was also the backdrop to one of the most powerful lessons I’d ever learn. We were taught not to be tattletales and encouraged to solve our own problems, but at 8, I was still not very good at that second part. It was rare, if ever that I told my parents or my Aunt’s or Uncle’s what was happening in my life, good bad or indifferent. I never wanted to burden the adults with my little kid problems, which I now see was a very grown up but also unhealthy thing for me to be doing. Sharing my problems often made me feel like a victim, seeking attention or feeling sorry for myself, and that is just not how I am wired. So, we never said a word and for years this prank continued. The older, much larger than us boys would laugh hysterically at how distraught my brother and I would be after they held the door shut for what I’m sure was only minutes but to a scared child felt like an eternity.

My aging mind doesn’t always possess the detail and clarity of memories as I would like, however, I’ll never forget the day my torture ended. It was not a holiday, when all the kids were there…rather just one of the special times when my brother and I were the only kids visiting Nana’s house. A moment, I can recall with ease, like my mind hit record and took a video complete with pictures, sounds, and even smells and tastes for reasons I wouldn’t understand for years. The memory etched on my heart is of my brother and I sitting at the kitchen table sipping hot cocoa after playing in the snow. With my frozen fingers wrapped tight around the mug I could feel the tingle of the heat on my lips and the way the steam danced up to my nose which helped to warm me from the inside out. After my brother got up and scurried out of the room on to his next adventure, Nana sat down across the table from me.

I’ve never had a good poker face and Nana know something was bothering me. She always knew, when any one of us was carrying the invisible burden of our own thoughts torturing us for meaningless reasons, she could always tell and you knew you weren’t leaving until you’d coughed up whatever was stuck inside you. Must be a grandmother superpower of some sort, they have the best instincts of any creature on this planet. Soaring above peacefully, moving about with the grace of flight and watching and waiting and only swooping in when you ask or when they know it is needed.

“What’s wrong child?” she asked with that gruff yet somehow tender tone that was no doubt meant to convey that telling her was a demand and not an option. Another superpower to add to the collection and one I have enjoyed using with my own children.

I’d thought this moment, about sharing for so long, I even played out in my head what I could say that wouldn’t get anyone into too much trouble. All I wanted was for the torture to stop. I’d rehearsed what it would sound like if OI had the chance, and if an adult had ever paid close enough attention to hear us protesting or pounding on the door or seen one of us in tears afterward and actually asked what was going on. However, those boys were smart and seemed to know the exact moments for this devilish prank. Like when the adults would gather outside if it was warmer out or when someone was leaving, and they’d all be at the front of the house and unable to hear. I was angry, I was hurt, I was shaking inside and could feel all the emotions welling up in the pit of my stomach. We were family, and I thought that meant being nice to one another and protecting each other. No one tells you that when your cousins are 10-15 years older than you there will be jokes, and torture and resentment toward you for being the babies who get all the attention or the better gifts. It’s easy to see and understand as an adult but at 7, 8, 9, I didn’t know any better and it pained me that I would be worried or resentful each time we had to visit for the holidays. I was sure someone would notice how we would anchor ourselves to an adult and follow them around even when being shooed away. They never did, and I never found my voice, at least not at that age.

I found myself speechless with so much on my mind I wanted to say to her but instead of tattling, I wanted to be brave, I wanted to not care, I wanted to know how I could overcome. I felt compelled to take an entirely different approach than becoming the martyr or victim which led to something unexpected. I’m not sure why or where it came from but somehow this felt like the conversation that was needed far more than sharing what was “wrong” with me in that moment.

“Grandma, are you afraid of the dark?” I said.

In true Nana fashion she reached across the table and grasped my arm. Her calming energy flowed into me settling my nerves and clearing the way to not only listen but to really HEAR what she was about to say next. She let out a little chuckle from deep inside her belly which was a sure sign I was in for a good story or sound advice from the lovely woman giving me her time and attention that day.

“Is that all that’s eating at you? That’s an easy one if you really want it to be. There is nothing about the dark to be afraid of my love, fear stays in the shadows and lives in the dark because it is not real and with love and light it cannot exist. The key to letting go of your fear of the dark is about understanding and learning to see with something other than your eyes.” She said.

I am sure I had a perplexed look on my face prompting her to go on to explain further.

“Think about this for a moment and close your eyes while I speak. Each time you find yourself sitting in the dark, instead of spending all your time and energy trying to see, I want you to feel instead. Open your heart and open your mind and realize that the removal of one sense does not incapacitate you. Heck the more you remove the more focused the others must become. Learning THAT is the key to unlocking and dissolving all these things you are doing to yourself. Take a deep breath and close your eyes tight so you aren’t even preoccupied with trying. What else can you do to create comfort for yourself in the dark?”

I had to think on that one for a while, but Nana acted like she had all the time in the world just for me. “Hmmm, I suppose I could listen, see if there is someone there or listen for when they leave. Oh, and I could feel the things around me and know they are familiar and not scary I guess…”

“Good…see, you are getting it!” She validated my choices that seemed more like questions to me, bringing me a sense of calm and accomplishment like only Nana could. While she hadn’t solved my problem entirely, I was feeling much better about things and already wondering if I could remember those for next time. It had always occurred to me that maybe if we didn’t react it wouldn’t be fun for them anymore but reasoning with a four-year-old wasn’t easy and we were easy targets due to being little and young in comparison. Fighting them off on the way to being drug down the hall and shoved into the pitch-dark bathroom was never an option either. Even if I could keep myself calm, what could I do to help my brother?

As I got up to leave the table to go find him, Nana called out. “Oh, and one more thing…” She handed me a small keychain with a lush button tiny flashlight dangling from the end. “The next time your cousins lock you in that bathroom, have this in your pocket. Don’t bang on the door, don’t cry out, just sit with your brother and listen for them to give up. Close your eyes and see with your mind, hum a song and sway from side to side with him in your lap, I promise, It won’t be fun for them for long…” and she turned and strolled out of the kitchen while I sat in disbelief. How could she have known all along and never stopped it or said anything!

I was confused and sad and admittedly a little angry, but I was also stunned. She was never around when any of this happened how could she possible see the unseen and know what was happening? I wondered often how she knew but never asked. It was like an unspoken agreement that I would know how to handle the situation from now on. Over the next two years I never went to Nana’s without that light in my pocket, it was my protection, the light that cut through the darkness for us and after two or three more instances, my cousin’s DID tire of no more reaction from us and moved on to other things leaving “the babies” behind.

The years melted away and those fears with them. When they asked me to write and deliver her eulogy all those years later, I was stunned. I felt like others knew her better or were closer to her since we had moved away from Nana when I was in middle school. When I asked why, I was told that everyone felt I would get through it better than they would. My mother commented that although there weren’t always many words between us, Nana and I always seemed to have a similar response and outlook on things, and that brought her comfort. We laughed, we cried, we shared memories many of us had forgotten all about. The most powerful memory I had of my grandmother was that of learning to not be afraid of the dark, and quite frankly how human it is for us to create our own fears and avoid our own solutions. It is powerless, mysterious, wonderous and calm at the core and has become quite comforting for me since those days. I’ve been a night owl most of my grown life and realized part of what I appreciated was the slowing down that hushes the Earth just a bit more during the night. When the light of the moon is all we need, to rest, relax and recover.

As we stood at the gravesite to say goodbye, I thought about the power of that gift given to me as a child from my grandmother. The simple words she shared reminding me that I am the creator of my own fear meant I was also the creator of my own joy and the only problem solver I would ever need.

I stayed long enough to see almost everyone off. The sun was fading fast, and dusk had moved in. They left little by little and I just sat for a while letting the reality of the day sink in. People thanked me for my words and hugged me while I nodded my head in gratitude and felt the numbness looming in. I’d parked a bit of a walk from the site, next to the tree line at the back of the cemetery. The walk seemed to go on for miles, yet I don’t remember a single thing I was thinking about until I found myself at my car door, keys in hand. As I unlocked the door, I caught the flash of white in the trees just before I heard the flapping of wings and there right in the middle of the deep emerald branches was a beautiful barn owl. She stared at me with familiar eyes and the wisdom of an ancient soul. My heart soared as a shiver ran down my spine and I knew in that moment my grandmother was still with me. She was still with all of us, as connected if not more so than ever before. My sadness softened and my heart felt like it had been wrapped in a cozy warm blanket. My mind played welcomed tricks on me as I swore I could even smell cocoa in the air.

I looked at the majestic bird and nodded my head to say thank you as she stretched her wings and gave me a sway back and forth, just as Nana had always done when she was hugging us. Then she bounced the branch and leapt up into the air and disappeared into the white skies without a trace. As I started the car and began to drive out of the lot, a song I’d never heard made it’s way onto my playlist. I’d never heard it before, on the radio or anywhere, but somehow I knew in that moment that it will surely be played during my own Celebration of Life someday as my friends and family say goodbye. These days I spend hoping I have the chance to teach my own grandchildren what my Nana taught me. How to see without my eyes, listen without my ears and feel without my hands, and how to use love and light to chase away the dark. Slowing down, learning to fly and feeling from within is the lesson of the owl my grandmother gave me all those years ago in such a simple way that I will cherish forever.

As I pulled out of the drive of the graveyard the song gave me goosebumps and I knew the owl and the words that were dancing in my head had been given to me as a beautiful thank you from my grandmother…love you Nana, because of you, I’m not afraid of the dark, and never will be.

********************

[Chorus]

Oh Lord, when I die

Make my life a lullaby

'Til that long goodnight

Keep my fire burning like a star

I'm not afraid of the dark

Too many years that I've wasted

Now I can't slow down

I'm just so scared that I'm fading

I just can't slow down

Nocturnal beast, born in the east

Raised in a small town

Too late to slow down, down, down

[Chorus]

Oh Lord, when I die

Make my life a lullaby

'Til that long goodnight

Keep my fire burning like a star

I'm not afraid of the dark

- The Dark by ZZ Ward

*********************