Sorrow

Grief is a strange animal.

I attended a funeral today, and I think the anticipation was almost worse than the funeral itself. Ever since my Dad died, I've dreaded funerals, for a myriad of reasons. And this one, today, for a father who left behind children was even harder. It was too easy to identify with them. That old edge of grief returned to me, cutting me, reminding me that it's never really gone, and Dad's loss today is still as hard, sometimes, as it was in the beginning.

I know something of what that family is going through; and yet, I can't fathom the depth of their pain. And I know that there are no words that comfort or reach through the cloud they walk within.

There is no balm to soften the sharpness of that razor's edge.

There is nothing to stop the deep, resonating sting.

There is nowhere for the sadness to go.

In the book of Job, as he sits, grieving for the loss of his material wealth and, more importantly, his family, his friends approached him. They joined him in his grief, sat with him, and wept with him.

That was the ONLY right thing they did. And it's what they should have continued to do.

Today I almost felt guilty, thinking of my own father's funeral, and yet, it's my grief for him that has allowed me to feel so much for this family. Our own losses give us the ability to emphathize with another, and therefore, in some sense, sit with another in the ashes of their lives and grieve with them, weep with them, and join our sorrows, even in silence.

And on the day of the funeral, it's easy to tell someone we are there, but in speaking for experience, we need to know that people remain there even in the weeks and months to come.

I think that's why I had such a hard time with my Dad's death; just after he died, I returned to school, "life as normal" but it was anything BUT normal. Certinaly, it's important to have a routine, but I literally had no support network. I had no one to go to. I didn't trust anyone, not even God.

In essence, there was no one sitting in the ashes with me, and although there were a few who were maybe willing, I didn't know how to let them in. I think that's still something I struggle with.

So my prayer for this family is that they remain close to each other, that their friends remain close to them, and that, in the weeks and months to come, their needs are met by all those who love them. Because without others around to show the grieving the very love of Christ, the lonliness of that time can be too much to bear.

If you know someone who has suffered the loss of a loved one, don't be afraid to check up on them every so often, and renew your offers to be of assistance in some way, and even share your memories of the deceased. The little things mean the most, and you may find that the little things build trust, which leads to hope, which may lead that person to finally come to you when they hit the inevitable wall.

Most importantly; just be present.

I observed tonight, in speaking with some coworkers that grief doesn't really go away or get better; we only learn how to deal with it. They have also lost parents and know what it's like. And that experience unites us, wherever we are. Inevitably we all have to face our own grief while grieving for and with another, and it helps us to remember what we lacked so that we can fill that need in another. We can look into their eyes and maybe know that no words are necessary because a hug says enough. And we maybe can see that they need a comforting word, or a memory to share or even a friend to stand near for a moment or two. These are important lessons, which can only be learned through our own suffering.