Maya woke with a start, heart racing and sweat beading on her forehead. The nightmare had felt vividly real – she was lost alone in a dark forest, searching and calling desperately for her mother. But only echoing silence answered her cries.
As her breathing slowed, Maya reached for the journal on her nightstand. Her therapist had suggested writing down dreams and insights to process her grief. It had been three months since the accident that took her mother’s life, leaving Maya untethered and adrift. She recorded the dream’s details, hands trembling. Sleep had become elusive most nights.
Closing her eyes, Maya tried to recall her mother’s face, but it remained blurred, just out of reach. The memories that once brought comfort now taunted her. She worried time would erode her mother’s voice, her touch, everything Maya feared losing. Clutching her pillow like a child, she whispered into the darkness, “I don’t know how to do this without you.”
As the first rays of dawn filtered in, Maya rose to make tea. She moved through her morning rituals numbly on autopilot – shower, dress, sip tea while staring blankly. But when she stepped outside to leave for work, she paused on the driveway, noticing the spring blossoms with fresh eyes.
The cherry tree in the yard was riotous with blooms, the kind her mother adored. Maya inhaled their sweet perfume as petals rained down around her like snowflakes. Surprised by an unexpected wave of peace, she lifted her face skyward, letting the petals caress her skin. Just then, a warm breeze rippled through the boughs like a whispered message – “I’m still here.”
Overcome by the beauty and possibility in this ordinary moment, Maya wept – for the first time allowing grief to flow through her. Tears watered the earth like spring’s rains nourishing buds to bloom. She began her drive with a tiny seed of hope planted in her heart.
That evening, Maya retrieved the journal, reading her dream again. Suddenly fresh insight washed over her – the path through grief was much like moving through a dark wood without a map. The way would not always be clear or easy. But if she stopped fighting the shadows and kept putting one foot in front of the other, she would find her way. Scribbling furiously, Maya filled pages.
The days that followed were not without setbacks and pain, but Maya continued seeking glimmers of comfort and meaning to light her way – happy memories that now elicited bittersweet smiles, her mother’s favorite songs and recipes, small moments of ordinary beauty that whispered, “I’m still here.”
And slowly, gradually, Maya began to trust that just as her mother loved spring blossoms, she also loved Maya enough to want her to bloom again. For the first time since that terrible night, Maya could picture her mother’s smile more clearly than the accident.
The forest would always feel darker with her mother gone. But Maya was learning she could navigate this strange path. Mile by mile she would wander through the woods, sometimes losing her way, other
surprised by joyous clearings filled with light. Either way, she would keep moving mindfully, sustained by love that had not vanished but only changed form.
On the hardest days when the path ahead seemed impossibly dark, Maya repeated her new mantra – “Just keep walking.” And step by step, season by season, her grief would gradually blossom into wisdom.
