There are days when life slips through our fingers, when everything seems to fall apart.
In those moments, the words of others become shelters, their silences become refuge.
This text was born from such moments when fear takes over, when exhaustion overwhelms, and yet a voice, a glance, or a helping hand quietly rekindles hope.
It began as a cry of despair, and turned into a thank you.
An offering to those who console the gentle souls whose presence keeps us from sinking.

Thank You to Those Who Console

I believed in miracles, but saw only mirages.
I believed in good times, but met only clouds.
I sowed life, and harvested only survival.
Fallen to the ground, terrified, eyes lifted to the sky, I asked permission to leave this earth.

He consoled me like a friend, a parent, a brother, a sister.
And I answered like a lost soul, a wandering sheep, a bird that no longer remembers how to fly.

He told me the past was gone.
I replied, “The past is still here it spends its time haunting my mind.”

He said the future would be brighter.
I answered, “The future is uncertain, and when it finally comes, it brings surprises not always kind ones.”

He pointed to those carrying heavier burdens than mine.
I said they were better equipped than I to face theirs.

He told me not to worry, that there would always be solutions.
But my mind was elsewhere my problems seemed to enjoy my company.

He said God was there, that I should have faith.
I replied, “And yet, that same God allowed it to happen. Why shouldn’t I let Him go, too?”

He advised me to get some fresh air.
But in my defeated state, I could no longer bear the wind it reminded me that all is vanity.

And yet, with every word of comfort, he planted in me a seed of hope.
He stirred doubt, opened new perspectives.

I finally understood that those who console us are the ones who keep us from dwelling in self-condemnation.

Thank you to those who console.
Your seeds are priceless.

This is a blog of gratitude
to the friends who never let go,
to the parents who held us up,
to the strangers who stopped to lift us,
to the tireless souls who, with words, gestures, or presence, make life more bearable.
Consolation doesn’t erase pain it gives it meaning. And sometimes, that is miracle enough. Note from my journal

Read also fragments of July

Written by Aliane UMUTONIWASE