Comfort From Those Who Have Been There

One of my most treasured experiences as part of my grief studies this semester has been sitting down with members of our congregation who have lost someone, whether recently or many years ago, and letting them share their story and their wisdom with me.  I took some time earlier this week to go back and listen to the recordings of our conversations again and pull out some common themes.  Two of these ladies lost their husbands and the third lost her mother, all quite suddenly.  All three were forced to deal with the pain of grief that came out of nowhere, from a loss that was neither expected nor welcomed.  And all three are beautiful testimonies to the goodness of God and the strength and comfort He provides.

One of the questions I asked all three of these ladies was "What would you say to someone now who has just lost someone close to them and is beginning their own journey through grief?"  Two key phrases came up in all three conversations, which occurred separately and weeks apart from each other- to me that says these two pieces of wisdom are worth sharing here.

First, take life moment by moment in these beginning weeks and months.  The realization that someone we have shared our life with is gone does not come all at once- it comes gradually, and therefore painfully, in the little reminders of every part of our day where we once again catch ourselves looking for them or wondering where they are, only to remember they are gone.  Our minds have become so accustomed to their presence that our brain seems to play dirty little tricks on us, wherein we turn to say something to our loved one, suddenly remember they are gone and become emotional for a few moments, then turn and do the same thing again just an hour later.  It is a very painful and gut-wrenching experience these first few weeks as we re-train our minds to no longer look for their face or listen for their voice.  The silence that is left in their place is deafening, especially after the friends and family have gone back to their lives after the obligatory two-week vigil with us.

This painful process of gradual realization requires us to take life moment by moment, to focus only on the step we are on, and to allow ourselves the time necessary to cry, to weep, to mourn, and to miss our loved one each time we are reminded that they are gone.  These are the times where we are the most tempted to go around our grief rather than through it, because the pain is just too great.  And certainly there are times where we need to choose to walk away for a bit and let our minds and our hearts focus on something else.  But as one of these ladies told me:

"I found my tears to be helpful and to be healing because when I cried, it emptied out the fullness I felt of grief so I could have spare [room] to fill up again with peace."

What a beautiful illustration of grief allowing us the necessary act of "emptying ourselves" through tears and sadness so that we can be free to be filled up again with peace, comfort, and hope.  This "emptying" is such an important part of grief, and I believe it is part of the wisdom found in Ecclesiastes 7:2,

"It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart."

If we continually go to the house of feasting, we will deprive ourselves of the emptiness needed to be filled with the "peace that passes understanding" promised to us in Philippians 4:6-11.  Remember, one who is empty can find comfort and peace with God in a way that a full person cannot.

Second, it will get better.  Perhaps the most difficult advice to believe is that, eventually, this ache will lessen, the crying will taper, and the difficulty of simply getting through a day will become lighter.  But all three of these ladies are testimonies to the fact that grief does get better over time.   There is hope to be found, there is light at the end of this dark tunnel, and you will not feel this way forever.  The "emptying" mentioned above will not be needed forever.   Eventually, that peace and hope will remain longer and longer, and the emptiness will begin to lessen, until we come to a place where we are filled in a new way.  We will still have moments where we need to grieve and remember, but we will no longer need to empty ourselves in the process; the peace and comfort we have now stays with us, even in times of sadness.

And in this new "fullness," we have become different person.  We have allowed our grief to shape us, to mature us, to strengthen us and to make us wise.  It has not dominated us completely, but we have allowed it to serve a purpose for us.  We have not ignored our grief or treated it like an illness to be cured- we have given it the time and attention it asks for, and we continue to do so, only in new and less "dominating" ways.  We are filled with hope and peace in a way that we would never have been before were it not for our grief forcing us to empty ourselves so that we could be filled again.  And for that, we are better. 

For all of us missing loved ones around the Thanksgiving table this holiday, may God grant us that fullness, not just the kind that comes from turkey and dressing, but that comes from the peace and hope that only He can grant.