The Light By The Lake

When my grandma died, the whole world felt different. It wasn’t just that she was gone; it was like everything around me grew quieter, and even the colors seemed to fade a little. Grandma was my favorite person. She told the best stories, smelled like cinnamon and old books, and always made me feel like I mattered.

At first, I didn’t know how to handle it. I kept expecting to see her in the kitchen or hear her laugh from the porch. But the house stayed still. The silence was the loudest thing I’d ever heard. I stopped wanting to do the things I used to love, reading, drawing, even riding my bike, felt pointless without her.

One afternoon, just a few days after the funeral, I wandered down to the lake near our house. It was a cold, gray day, and the water looked like glass, smooth and silent. I sat on a rock by the edge and stared out, feeling like I was sinking inside myself. That’s when I saw it, a small flicker of light, hovering just above the water.

It wasn’t the sun, and it wasn’t a reflection. It was tiny and blue, like a spark, and it danced just over the lake’s surface. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light or maybe a firefly, but it didn’t act like any insect I’d ever seen. It moved slowly toward me, almost like it was inviting me to follow.

Curious, I stood up and walked along the shore. The light floated just ahead, glowing softly and changing shape, sometimes like a little flame, other times like a glowing ribbon. I wasn’t scared. Instead, it felt warm, like it was trying to tell me something.

As I walked, I remembered a story Grandma once told me about the wisps and the willow, mysterious lights that guide people who are lost. I never believed her before, but now, I thought maybe this light was trying to help me find my way through the sadness.

The light led me to an old tree at the edge of the lake, the one Grandma loved to sit under. When I got there, the light hovered around the trunk, then gently floated down to rest on my palm. It was soft and pulsing, like a tiny heartbeat.

I closed my eyes and whispered, “I miss you, Grandma.” The light shimmered and for a moment, I felt like she was right there beside me, not with words, but with love I could feel in my chest.

After that day, I started visiting the lake more often. Whenever I felt overwhelmed or sad, I would sit by the tree and wait for the little light to appear. Sometimes it was there, sometimes not, but I knew it was never really gone.

Slowly, I began to feel a little lighter inside. The light wasn’t magic that made everything perfect, but it reminded me that even when people leave, they don’t disappear completely. They live on in the small things, like a story, a smell, or a quiet light by the water.

Losing Grandma taught me that grief isn’t something you get over like a scraped knee. It’s something you carry with you and learn to live with. And sometimes, when the world feels darkest, a little light can help guide you back.