Today is the winter solstice, the shortest day and the longest night of the year in the northern hemisphere. And in Minnesota where I live, we’re in the midst of a blizzard and frigid temperatures, with wind chills predicted to fall to a dangerous -40°F or colder this weekend. So we’re hunkered down, enveloped in the brightness of snow and the darkness of night.
The longest night is the threshold of the year. More so than New Year’s Eve, in my opinion. After the solstice, sunlight grows ever longer, minute by minute, moving forward until summer. So even though winter has its harshest months to come, the solstice is a day of hope for me. Because I know that little by little, the days are lengthening again.
But in life, we don’t always know when we’re about to approach a turning point. I’ve been in seasons of life that felt like endless winters. Like in the Game of Thrones series—when a winter comes, there’s no predicting how long it will last. Decades, sometimes. That resonates. In life, longest nights are full of uncertainty and they can be incredibly lonely.
Several people close to me are going through separate, heartbreaking, challenging times right now. Each one walking through their own longest night, some without a clear end in sight. I’m thinking of them today.
And I’m thinking of people in Ukraine, waiting in the cold and the dark for the electrical grid to be restored and for war to end. I’m thinking of people at the US-Mexico border waiting to seek asylum. I’m thinking of people waiting through infertility and people waiting by the bedside of babies in NICUs and PICUs. I’m thinking of those waiting for an estranged loved one to come home. I’m thinking of people waiting through long-Covid or chronic pain. I’m thinking of people waiting through the longest nights of depression.
Today during the winter solstice, I’m thankful for poet and author Jessica Kantrowitz, who blesses people with the words: You are not alone, and this will not last forever.
And I wrote a blessing of my own for all those walking through a longest night.
Longest Night
A Solstice Blessing
Here’s to those wandering
in lonely, longest night
beyond sight of nearest dawn.
To those keening
fresh sorrow, raw and undone.
And those whose grief is wearily familiar.
Here’s to the disillusioned,
let down and hurt by the ones
trusted to guide and protect.
To the always-okay
joy bringers carrying deep wounds
behind brilliant smiles.
Here’s to those struggling in public
and those not ready to share.
For you and me and
the dear one on your heart.
May you find others in the night,
reaching for your hand to hold,
waiting for morning
together.
©2022 Naomi Krueger
Going Deeper
For much lovelier poems and readings for times of depression or times of difficulty, I highly recommend Jessica Kantrowitz’s wonderful book Blessings for the Long Night: Poems and Meditations to Help You Through Depression and the companion book The Long Night: Readings and Stories to Help You Through Depression.
These books are marketed specifically for those going through depression, but the words reach beyond that to any long night you may be experiencing. In the preface, Kantrowitz writes:
And when I write, “This will not last forever,” I don’t mean that everything will be fine, that the future is rosy, that pain will disappear. I mean that this specific time will not last forever. Something will shift. There will be pain in the future, too, but there will also be joy. You are not stuck in this moment forever.”
You are not alone, and this will not last forever. —Jessica Kantrowitz
Photo credits: Claudia Ramírez on Unsplash; Oleg Gospodarec on Unsplash; kazuend on Unsplash
Thank you for this. And your poem moved me deeply.