Through the Valley

By Stephanie Himmel

I did not know how deep the dark could go,

until the day she slipped beyond my reach,

a whisper lost upon the wind,

a name now hollow in my speech.

Grief unraveled, slow and wild,

a storm that would not break nor bend.

I held the weight of every question,

each one a road without an end.

And then my body bore the echo,

grief pressed deep in trembling hands—

breath unsteady, nerves unraveled,

a mind at war with its demands.

But in the silence, in the ache,

where words and answers came undone,

I met a God who knew the sorrow,

my parents lost a daughter,

a my God lost a Son.

And so I inch, knuckles white,

singing songs of hope through fear,

reconciling light and shadow,

naming love still present here.

For even now, though mind betrays,

though restless bones still fight to stand,

the Spirit stays, unshaken, near—

a steady voice, a holding hand.