The Little Lamp and Her Light
Once upon a time there was an oil lamp who shone brightly where she had been placed and loved being a light. She lit rooms for people to work and play, to learn and grow, and she felt fulfilled. She was a pretty basic lamp: a small tin reservoir that held her oil, a wick, and a glass chimney. Over time she helped create two more lights – a hearth fire and a campfire.
Three Lights, Three Different Paths
The hearth fire was cozy and warm; looking at it evoked images of home. You just knew that there was a pot of something savory and warm bubbling, and fresh bread baking in her coals. Young and old alike drew near for her warmth.
The campfire was wilder, the type of fire warriors and hunters gathered around at the end of a long day. People played music and danced around this fire, and it beckoned to those far away.
These lights were not in competition with each other. They were best friends and worked together like yin and yang, sometimes having raucous, friendly competition, and the lamp smiled and shone on both of them. Over the years the lamp had been through some rough patches: there were chips and fine cracks in her glass chimney, but she still shone brightly.
When Loss Leaves Us in the Dark
One day a terrific storm appeared and put out the campfire. The fire had been rained on before, many times, but it had always rebuilt itself from its own embers. This time the fire was completely cold; no sparks of light remained to be seen. The hearth fire grew smaller in pain, drawing back for protection, but the lamp clattered to the floor in shock. Her tin dented, her chimney shattered, and almost all the oil drained from her tin into the floorboards.
The hearth fire whispered to the lamp, “Let me help you. I will give you some of my light,” and a tiny flame would start, but the lamp was too damaged. A flame could not stay lit. She was placed on a shelf in a cold, dark pantry and left alone. Sometimes she could hear the hearth fire calling to her to come back, to try again, and she did keep trying, but she just could not stay lit. After a while she stopped trying, content to be still and dream about when there was light all around.
Finding Light in the Darkness
There was a small window in the pantry, and the lamp saw the light from the stars and the moon. Somehow, eventually, the lamp understood that light does not really leave; it moves somewhere else, and we can make our own light if we choose. So she refilled her little oil can and trimmed her wick. It took a long time, and it was hard work, because the lamp had neglected herself for so long. But she persisted. Then she spotted several small lights through the window, lights that had been lit by the campfire, and this brought back something she had forgotten. Hope.
Hope After Loss
She fashioned herself a new chimney, tin this time, with holes cut into shapes of her favorite things: hearts, flowers, moon, and stars. Then she asked the hearth for help again. This time the flame took hold and grew stronger and brighter. After all, if you have a cover filled with holes, the best thing to do is to shine brighter and show your full beauty.
Stephanie Dawson
2 articlesA bereaved mother, certified death doula, grief coach, meditation teacher, and educator. After the sudden loss of her son in 2020 and her mother in 2021, Stephanie turned her personal experience with profound grief into a mission to support others navigating loss. A retired nurse in her mid-50s, she brings compassion, wisdom, and a deeply human perspective to conversations about grief, death, and healing. When she’s not supporting clients, she’s kept busy by her surviving daughter, five grandchildren, and a large extended family of nieces, nephews, and their children. Stephanie believes that while grief and death can be dark and frightening journeys, no one should have to face them alone: “You have to go through it, but you don’t have to go alone. I’ll sit with you.”
