A Path That Led to Healing

Three people he had loved. Three people he had lost.

Time seemed irrelevant after the last was lost. Days flew by, then weeks, then months. Still, the pain didn't go away. It remained, like an on-going emptiness. The piles with cards that all read 'sorry for your loss' with flowers or a small gift grew. He didn't go outside, he didn't open the curtains, he sat, alone, in a dark room.

At night, when he couldn't sleep, he cried and screamed and kicked the gifts. If by some miracle, he fell asleep, his nightmares of dying grew worse with every passing day. No one who gave him flowers or a card could really understand his pain.

One night, when his knuckles bled from punching walls and no more tears came, he crumpled to the floor next to the pile. His head hit something hard, and he pushed it away, laying on the floor, drifting in and out of nightmares.

In the morning, the object remained in front of him. He picked it up slowly. It was a small black camera. It had a small yellow note taped to it that read: Find the light in this dark time. He threw it to the floor, cracking the lens, and screamed. How could they say to find light? There was none.

He slowly shuffled away to go sit on his couch. He stared into the darkness and breathed the stale air in and out as he had done for the last few months. First minutes, then hours went by. As the sun reached the highest point in the sky, a ray of light peeked through the curtain, illuminating a small black object on the floor. The camera. 

In some ways, he felt a hatred towards that small black camera. It had been given because someone thought there could be some light in a time of deep despair, which he knew was impossible. In other ways, he was curious about what the note had meant. Maybe there was a different meaning behind it? He didn’t think so, but in the end, curiosity won.

He stood and shuffled towards it. He leaned down and picked it up, tracing the crack on the lens with his finger. A sharp edge of the crack cut his finger, allowing a trickle of blood to run down his hand. He wiped it away on his pants, unaware of the dark red stain that formed on them.

He ran his fingers over the bumps and curves of the camera, finding the button to turn it on. He pressed it gently and the screen lit up. Suddenly, he just stood there, realizing for the first time in months, he wasn’t thinking about those he had lost. Instead, he was thinking about his curiosity, - an emotion he hadn’t let himself feel in months - and what the note could have meant by finding the light. 

The realization scared him. He quickly pushed the off button, hands shaking, and set the camera down on the table in front of the couch. He sat, once again, on the couch, this time watching the camera, as if it were about to grow legs and walk away.

He must have dozed off because he found himself in a dream. It was a sort of nightmare, but not the same as the ones he had been dreaming the last few months. Instead he was caught, in a sort of floating state, in between the light and the dark. The light seemed to be calling to him, but when he tried to move, he found that he couldn’t. He struggled and struggled for what seemed like hours before waking, drenched in a cold sweat. 

He was still on the couch, and looked at the clock. It was ten o’clock in the morning. He groaned and stood, stretching his legs. Then he noticed the camera, still sitting, almost waiting on the table. He stared at it for a second, before deciding he would just get it over with, quickly turning it on, taking a picture and seeing if there actually was any light in his life. So, that’s exactly what he did. 

He turned it on, then he aimed it at the ground and took a picture. It wasn't of anything in particular, it was just a test picture, but it took his breath away.

The picture itself was slightly blurry, and the tip of his finger was visible, but the way you could see a ray of morning light across the floor -with only a thin line of black because of the crack- illuminating a small bouquet of flowers was beautiful. It showed a different perspective. Instead of a dark, messy room that was in dire need of some fresh air, it showed colourful flowers, and it gave a sense of hope, and peace.

He tried it again, but this time, the picture was only of the brown floor which was barely even visible because of the darkness of the room. He stared, frustrated with the picture. Maybe, the first picture had been a mistake, and he had imagined the feeling of peace and hope that came with it. He turned the camera off again and set it down on the table. 

Then, shoulders hunched, he dragged his feet to the kitchen, where he got himself a small breakfast. It contained a piece of stale toast, with butter and the remainder of milk at the bottom of the carton, equal to less than half a glass. He looked around the kitchen. The garbage was overflowing and dirty dishes piled up beside and in the sink. He looked down at the napkin he was eating over top of, but just couldn’t bring himself to start on the dishes. Instead, he yet again went to sit on the couch. 

On the couch, he dozed off again, which was odd because he hadn’t gotten this much sleep in months. He found himself in the same dream as the night before, floating in between the light and the dark. This time, he was able to pull himself slightly towards light, enough to hear a voice, repeating the message that was on the camera. “Find the light in this dark time, find the light in this dark time.”

He woke with a start, as a realization came to him. He had forgotten something. The note said find the light in this dark time, not, the light will come to you in this dark time. Immediately, he felt stupid. Of course he couldn’t just expect for it to always come to him. The first picture was just lucky that it had turned out so beautifully.

The second the realization hit, he picked up the camera and went to the windows. Without thinking, he pulled back the curtains. The light flooded in and lit the room. For a second, he just stood there, taking it in. He closed his eyes, letting his hands fall to his side, and relaxed. He let his thoughts of the ones he had lost drift away.

When he finally opened his eyes again, he turned the camera on and sighed. If he couldn’t capture the light now, he would never, ever find it. With shaky hands, he raised the camera to point out the window, towards the only flowers on his lawn that had survived these last few months. Finally, he took the picture.

He was almost afraid to look at it. Would it convey a sense of hope? Or would it convey a sense of misery? He sighed and finally forced himself to glance at the picture. Once he had seen it though, he couldn’t take his eyes away from it. It was of a bush, with pretty pink flowers, and again, only a thin black line because of the crack. 

That night, when he fell asleep, he didn’t dream of dying, nor of floating between the light and the dark. This time, he was watching the ones he had lost, dancing in a field, full of pretty pink flowers.

In the morning, he put clean clothes on, and picked the camera up, walking over to the window with the open curtains. Sunlight was already flooding in, warming the cold room. For a second, he looked around to the other windows. Suddenly, he ran to each one, pushing back the curtains, and opening them, letting the sunlight and fresh air in. He sighed a sigh of relief as the musty air left the house. Then he went to the nearest window where he took pictures.

With every picture, he could almost feel the darkness slipping away. He knew, if he continued with his new found love of photography, he could stay on the path. One that was long and hard, and would sometimes make him smile, but could also make him cry. It was a path that led to healing.