Monday, March 19


Some mourning takes place in public. Some mourning takes place in private. Some mourning takes place in silence.

Mourning won't last long if the thing wasn't that important. It won't take long if the loss wasn't that great.

I wanted breakfast at the Braums. I got there fifteen minutes too late. I was looking at the breakfast menu, trying to pick an option, and the lady at the register told me they weren't serving breakfast anymore. But I didn't want lunch. It was too early, and I wanted eggs. That was emotionally disappointing, and I passed on all food, just getting coffee.

I was also some sleep deprived and stressed, which made it harder to process the "loss" of what I had hoped for. But, really, it was what my granny used to call an "oh well." It was small potatoes. It wasn't long lasting. It was just eggs, and I'd already eaten some cereal at home. I'd just wanted more to eat. Oh well.

But when the loss is a dream, a deep desire, a long nurtured wish, losing it, or (in some ways worse) giving it up, the pain runs deeper. Owl City says dreams don't turn to dust, but I've known more dreams crumble to powder than I care to count. Often, I no longer want to make or hold onto dreams, because I figure they'll just be heartrending losses down the road.

I used to be such a happy person. My reason then for not dreaming big was that I simply didn't know what to aim for. Now, I fear cynicism taking over. I fight it, but I know it's creeping up on me a little more with each disappearing desperate dream. (Sometimes I catch myself pondering if Christians should even have dreams and big aspirations...but that is another layered can of worms for another day and perhaps place. Let's have coffee sometime.)

When a dream is lost, I'm left empty. I wonder where the pieces are and how do I pick them up. Someday I'll figure out what to do with them if I can ever gather them all without dropping them through my fingers.

I mourn quietly. I brush it off around others. It's not worth your time. I'll process through. But sometimes a quiet whisper of, "I've been there, and I know this hurts," would soothe my soul.

Sometimes it's okay to hurt. Pain and loss isn't fun by any means, but it is something we face, and it shouldn't be shunted to the side.

But in the meantime, I'll stay quiet. It's safer to hurt without salt near the cuts. It's safer to wipe my own tears than risk scratchy fingers or long nails on my face. It's safer to bleed internally.

Sometimes mourning takes place in silence.


How do you mourn a dream? What do you do to pick up the pieces and make another one?



  1. Been there. Hurts like... well, hell... doesn't it? Sorry for what you're going through. Something that helps me is Psalm 34. I might not FEEL like it and at the end of the day it still hurts, but it helps me to get my focus on the Lord and not on what I've lost.

    1. Yeah, it sure can. :) Psalm 34 brought me a lot of comfort not that long ago, and it kept showing up.

  2. Wow, this is exactly where I'm at right now - mourning the loss of a dream and wondering how to cope. It's been over a month and I'm still grieving, so I think this was an important one for me. I do a lot of writing in my journal to cope, processing my feelings. I hope the frequency of those journal entries slows down one of these days as a sign that I'm getting over it. How do you pick up the pieces? I don't know. Just time, I guess. Wish I had the answer.

    1. Thanks for commenting, Cheryl. I'm sorry you're having to face such a loss. That really hurts.

      I don't know if it'll help with picking up the pieces exactly, but there's a quote in The Introvert Advantage that might help with the next dream: "Keep high aspirations, moderate expectations and small needs." - H. Stein (page 57). If I can figure out how to have high aspirations again, I might start trying to use this attitude.