Dear Friends,
Grief comes in waves and sometimes those Journey Through Grief waves
hit you when you least expect it.
Although it has been over a month now since I lost my wife the
pain and sadness is still there and those wave still keep on coming.
Just yesterday as I sat in the office of a woman who was helping
me with my tax returns, something that Jean always had done, those waves
enveloped me.
As the woman was finalizing my returns, I suddenly erupted in
tears. The lady helping me was so sweet, but it was obvious she was unprepared
for my outburst, and that she wasn’t quite sure what to do or say.
Grief is like that. You never know when it will come and what
might trigger it.
As a friend told me who, like Jean, had lost her battle with
Parkinson’s last November, “Grief will always be with you, but you somehow
learn to manage it.”
I have gotten over apologizing for my emotional breakdowns and
have come to accept them as a natural and normal part of the healing process.
If I can be thankful for anything going through my own grief, it
is the fact that I am now able to more fully appreciate the toll grief
can take on the one who is grieving.
Grief can make those around you feel uncomfortable. And to those
people who are not sure what to say or do, let me offer this advice. Just
listen. Listening can be the most effective ministry you can offer to the one
who is grieving.
Stay in touch with the one who is grieving. You may not feel
comfortable talking with such a person, and you may not know what to say, but
that is OK. Just listen. Let the person who is grieving know you care and are
thinking of them. Let them talk about their feelings. Encourage them to talk
about their loved one and share memories of him/her.
I have been so grateful for the people who have stayed in touch
with me and who periodically call to remind me they have not forgotten me.
Knowing there are those who are thinking of you and praying for you has been so
incredibly helpful to me.
I have a couple of friends who regularly call and check up on me.
Our conversations may not last for more than a minute, but just knowing that
someone cares about you is comforting and reassuring.
Just yesterday my daughter Rachel sent me an article that she
found helpful, and I pass it along as it might better help you understand what
the grieving person is going through.
“I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I
don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no
matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter.” I don’t
want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love,
and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is
deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a
testament that I can love deeply and be cut deeply, or even gouged, and
that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue
is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life.
Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.
“As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is
first wrecked, you’re drowning with wreckage all around you. Everything
floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship
that was and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of
the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe
it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating.
For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.”
“In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you
without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch
your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks,
maybe months, you will find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come
further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out.
But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going
to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the
smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything… And the wave
comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.”
“Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you
find that the waves are only 80 feet tall, or 50 feet tall. And while they
still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a
birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the
most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that
somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet,
Sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll
come out.
“The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want
them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And
you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots
of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.” Eric Alper, taken from the internet.
And as you go through your grief, don’t ever forget, “That grief
is itself a medicine.” William Cowper.
Yours in faith and friendship,
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