Grief is a very hard concept to explain. It is different for all people and different for all situations. It is a process, and while it does have a definite start, it probably has no real end. The shift from unbearable, to tolerable, to…well….. to something that is just a part of you which is indiscernible from your other parts is impossible to pinpoint. I don’t know where I am on that continuum. I did realize just the other day that when I respond “good” when people ask how I am doing, I actually mean it. I have been responding “okay” or “good” to that question since the beginning because there is nothing else really to say. Even though the response is the same, the feelings behind it have shifted dramatically. When I was asked that question, the words from my mouth were forced and the pain in my heart welled up at even having to say them. Because I wasn’t good. I was consumed by grief and I realize that while it’s still there, it is no longer consuming me. My response now is focused on life and hope and thoughts of now. I think that’s a good thing. It sure feels better. It made me start thinking about how it is that that happens. I remember all too well the second by second wavering between grief and hope in the days and weeks after my daughter’s death. It is a horrible, gut wrenching existence… barely an existence at all. For a few seconds alone, you can start to put your life into some sort of perspective, but before you can get a clear image, a feeling of hope at all, that chocking wave of grief passes over your body and lands on your chest crushing you back into despair. It’s like trying to claw your way out of a hole, and getting your fingers dug into the steep sides enough to barely life your feet of the ground and then losing your grasp….over and over….tens of thousands of times a day. It seems that after even a short time of that, we would give up. The grief would win, choking the hope out of us completely, but it doesn’t.
1 Thessalonians 4:13
Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.
Psalms 34:18
The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.
These two verses came to me many times in cards and in prayers, but I didn’t really have a place for them in my understanding. I do now. Grief would win, if we look at the situation with human eyes, but it is because of a power greater than ourselves that that seed of hope can grow. The seconds between grief and despair become minutes. Each time, we climb out of that hole just a tiny bit more before falling back. And then somehow, miraculously, you find yourself with more hope than grief, more life than defeat, and that my friends, is by the grace of God.
