Black. Red. Blue. Green.
If feelings had colors, I’d use black, red, blue, and green to describe my grief process.
Who passed? What died? In 2020, our local libraries stopped breathing. Libraries are a primary life support for me. When health regulations required shutdowns, I experienced grief in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
Black. That fatal morning, I walked up to the library, eager to post my “Smile for Your Monday Mile” on Facebook. Instead, the library’s writing was on the door. Their post said, “Due to recent epidemic concerns, this library is closed until further notice.” No warning, no heads up, just this pathetic paper sign. I felt like I’d been punched in the face and suffered two black eyes.
Red. I returned to my car and drove to the closest Wi-Fi location. I saw red. How could this be? Libraries are essential to many facets of my well-being. What about seniors who use the library as their social connection? What about that weary man who sits for hours in the lobby reading newspapers? What will he do? In my state of red, I wanted to scream, “No way! What a wicked joke!” No mask or shot protected me from that day’s trauma.
Blue. Sadness set in almost immediately. I missed libraries as an office away from my home studio. I work as an author, professional speaker, and loss support life coach and I spend many days in solitude. Ordinarily I relish the space and quiet. However, when I’m preparing a retreat or workshop talk, I often spend too much time in deep contemplation. I head to the library to diminish mental trauma. Even if I don’t engage with fellow patrons or staff, the library’s calm energy flow guards me from overthinking.
As time passed without libraries, I began to miss the librarians. They provide resources, technology expertise, input for projects and ideas. Plus, there are superstar librarians who share my quick wit and dry sense of humor.
Finally, after a grievous winter, the black, red, and blue seasons began to lift. Green shoots sprouted. Buds of hope returned when the library opened on a limited schedule. My soul celebrated fresh blooms.
I write this FROG Blog with hopes of deeper shades of green. I have an interview today at a small library only minutes from my home. Hours are flexible and part-time. Perfect. It allows me to continue writing, teaching and life coaching. Most importantly, I have an opportunity to return my grateful heart to become a library team player.
From black to red to blue to green, I smile at doors yet to open. I’ve told you, in previous FROG Blogs that “yet” is my word of this year. What is yet?
Not yet. I haven’t seen it yet. I don’t understand it yet. I don’t have it yet. What is it? God has yet to reveal it. Yet I will trust and adapt.
With green colored lenses, I leap off the lily pad of life,