“my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, ‘The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.’” Lamentations 3:20b-24
“Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love. For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to anyone.” Lamentations 3:32-33
The reality of life is that even as it begins death looms in the space between our breaths.
Our sorrow becomes an overwhelming tide of grief that even as the wave crashes onto the shore of our hearts and subsides another wave begins. It grabs us at odd moments and takes our breath away. Over time it does not recede completely but becomes a silent companion- a joke goes unsaid because the person who would love to hear it is no longer there- not just not beside us, but gone. Permanently. The great news we are bursting to share remains unshared. Small instances in our lives we would have expressed over dinner stay covered and fade without their intended audience.
The one thing I know about grief is that through it we learn that no other human can bring anything that will completely comfort. We can sit with each other in joint identification of what we are experiencing; but deep inside, where our grief resides is a place that no one else can enter. It is our grief that we bear alone moment by moment.
It is made a little easier to talk about when we are with someone who has also experienced the kind of grief we hold. Yet, even in their presence those waves can come crashing in unexpectedly.
For myself, the reality of knowing that there will never be another conversation, another door opening and closing with that person entering the house, or even a face to talk with over dinner to compare the moments of that day is what defines my grief.
When the person who has died was a difficult one to live with, grief comes accompanied by guilt. Guilt for the lack of words or for too many words exchanged while they were alive. Guilt for the inability to communicate well or to understand just what exactly we could have done differently or better. The “I should haves” creep in and perch on the bedpost in the night.
The questions of “why them and not me?”; “what else could I have done?”; “why did God allow them to live incapacitated for so long?”; “why did I have to watch the painful slowness that is dying so long?” A multitude of other thoughts flow in with those waves that keep crashing into the nighttime of our sorrow.
The suddenness of death, even when expected, impacts with us physically and hits the shock button initiating so many feelings and thoughts that we are stunned into auto pilot and become zombies for a time until we can bear up under the weight of the finality of what has just happened. I think being a zombie for a while insulates us from the heaviness of grief in the instantaneous change of our status. We becomes I. Am becomes was. Has becomes had. Are becomes were. Suddenly. Irrevocably.
Our feet drag. Our shoulders droop. Our smiles are lost. Our appetites are missing. Some of these become permanent dwellers with us. Some only stay until a sort of equilibrium sets in and becomes our new normal.
For some of us – even though we go through this whole tsunami of feelings, not feelings, non-feelings, good and bad feelings all at the same time- the grief is tempered by faith and hope. Hope in the One who made us, who gave us that breath in the beginning. Hope that we will at some future time-of our own measuring- see them again and pick up where we left off even if it may not be true. Hope that springs eternal knowing that this is not all there is. That there is something more. Something far greater than the grief that has become our constant companion, even if it’s moved a little further away for a while.
The hope of eternity with our Maker, our Designer, Our Crafter, Our Creator, Our Father makes it bearable in a way that can’t be adequately explained in words. Because He identifies with us in the sorrow- He has experienced it, that gut wrenching grief in the watching of a part of Him die so much so that He turned away from Jesus on that cross.
And, because His Spirit resides within us, that which looks impossible can be seen as possible in His economy.
We think we are grasping onto the promises He gives to ease our sorrows; but in reality, like life, any grasp we experience is unexplainable in words. The only explanation is in the knowledge He gives us that He is the One actually doing the holding on and that it is He who sustains us. For the time we have been given.
We carry it with us-we and our Creator-in the understanding that one day it will no longer be ours to hold.
When we reach that shore where the waves no longer break in on us but have moved on to others to bear up under; we carry our grief.
We carry it together each step of the way home.
“Record my misery; put my tears in your bottle– are they not in your book?” Psalm 56:8
“Even now my witness is in heaven; my advocate is on high. My intercessor is my friend as my eyes pour out tears to God; on behalf of a man he pleads with God as one pleads for a friend. Only a few years will pass before I take the path of no return.“ Job 16: 19-22
“Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger or discipline me in your wrath.
Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am faint; heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.
My soul is in deep anguish. How long, Lord, how long?
Turn, Lord, and deliver me; save me because of your unfailing love.
Among the dead no one proclaims your name. Who praises you from his grave?
I am worn out from my groaning.
All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears.
My eyes grow weak with sorrow; they fail because of all my foes.” Psalm 6:1-7
“And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Look! God’s dwelling-place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death” or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’” Revelation 21:3-4
“Show me your ways, Lord, teach me your paths. Guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long. Remember, Lord, your great mercy and love, for they are from of old.” Psalm 25:4-6
Beautifully written.
Thanks for sharing.
This is my testimony after my son died aged 50 7 weeks ago today:
For much of the last 12 years I have been longing to escape the huge trials of this life to go be with Jesus.
He, in His wisdom and mercy decided to take Jono to be with Him instead. I am so thankful for His mercy, for now Jono is fully being who God created him to be without the constraints of only being able to share a little of himself with people when he had such vast knowledge to share.
I see him as being fully loved, fully acceptable – way more than he had ever been in this life.
And I feel that God has arranged it that I get a few years of peaceful living to enjoy.
Don’t get me wrong- I still grieve – but I also see God in His infinite wisdom has answered my fervent prayer for Jono to be healed from the pervasive anxiety that plagued him and in doing so has taken away the constant stress in my life.
We really do have a Good Good Father.
Lynn Hall responds
Wow, Mary, such a beautiful testimony to God’s goodness, wisdom and perfect love toward His children. In Jono’s passing, He has richly blessed both Jono and you. No more worries re: how Jono would do once you passed. You now know, every moment of your remaining life here, that Jono has never been happier, that he is safe, and that his every need is met. Brings tears to my eyes and I just want to praise our awesome God.
I do acknowledge, though, the grief and loss you’re experiencing at losing your oldest child here on Earth.
Mary-when we realize that everyone experiences grief differently and has a story of grief, we realize we are not alone in our grief. we may be the only one who knows exactly what our grief feels like in our lives, but most of us have or will have similar experiences with grief. I’m truly sad for the loss of your son. And I’m relieved for you that all of your focus and concern for him has ended. His questions are all answered and his searching has ended now and you can rest.