Many of you know that this blog, and this ministry, began from a desire to help teach the friends and family of those who are hurting how to support them compassionately, effectively, and confidently. Part of that mission has always included offering glimpses into what those hurting worlds look like.

While many of my more recent posts have focused on spiritual growth and what God continues to teach us along the journey, every now and then I feel prompted to return to the original heartbeat of this ministry: helping others understand and support those who are grieving.

Most people are aware that those who have lost a loved one experience certain dates or events that bring a deeper ache—holidays, birthdays, wedding anniversaries, death anniversaries, significant milestones, and seasons of stress or transition.  They are triggers that remind us how much we lost when our loved ones died.  And the hole their absence leaves in our hearts.

These moments are expected, and we tend to be gentler with one another. We understand those tears.

But there is another layer of grief that often goes unnoticed. It’s the subject of today’s post and I hope it helps us all understand how the death of a loved one changes our lives in some seemingly-insignificant ways.

It happened this past Wednesday, just as it has for many years’ worth of Wednesdays, and likely will continue for the rest of my Wednesdays. What, you ask, could that possibly be?

Every Wednesday, as I’m making my bed in the morning, I switch the bed pillows. My goal is to wear them out equally and, because there’s no one sleeping on the second pillow, I switch them out mid-week.

Seems pretty innocuous, doesn’t it? It only takes an extra few seconds and it has become standard operating procedure every week. Despite the hundreds of times I’ve done this, I’m still aware of why this switch is necessary – Dale isn’t sleeping on the other pillow. Subtle? For sure. Trivial? Insignificant? Perhaps, but ever-present, nonetheless.

Are there other similar reminders scattered throughout my days? Of course. Here are just a few examples to help support the notion of daily heart tugs.

• Buttering my toast every other morning reminds me of how particular (neurotic?) Dale was about making sure the butter was spread all the way to the crusts. (Yes, I do it now!)
• Taking on the despicable cleaning task of dusting because that was Dale’s much-appreciated contribution to our house cleaning chore. (And silently chastising him for leaving me with this!)
• Watching a couple in a restaurant or church or walking down the street holding hands, or showing affection.
• Scrolling past the “romance” book options in my daily BookBub deals because I just can’t go there.

If your first instinct is to think, “But shouldn’t you have moved on by now?”—I ask you to hold that thought gently.

If I could gather a roomful or widows, widowers, parents who’ve lost children , or any number of folks experiencing deep losses, I suspect you’d get a few “Amens!” from them on this subject. These heart tugs do not mean we’re stuck in our grief. Quite the opposite – they are reminders of the deep love we still hold for those who have gone before us.

These subtle reminders don’t derail my day. I can finish making the bed after switching the pillows. I can enjoy my peanut butter toast to a greater degree because I’ve learned to butter it to the edges. I don’t stop and have a melt-down every time I dust the furniture.

And yet, they have all become a part of the fabric of my life. I might even go so far as to say they are now a natural part of my life. I’m not deeply grieving each of these reminders. But they are reminders nonetheless and they’ve changed me – however subtly – from who I was before Dale died.

I pray that change is for the better. It helps me be a more compassionate listener – a safe place for those who fear they’ll be judged or chastised if they share these thoughts indiscriminately.

What’s the takeaway from this message? Do I expect you to call me every Wednesday afternoon and make sure I’ve survived the pillow swapping? If you’re a couple, do I expect you to never show affection towards your spouse in my presence? Not at all. 

But if you can simply acknowledge that these daily heart tugs are real—and that they are not a sign of weakness or clinging or failure—then you, too, have made strides towards being a safe place for your own friends, as you offer this beautiful gift of compassion.

As the name of this ministry implies, I pray this helps you “be a blessing to your grieving friend.”

Thanks for listening!

Bear one another’s burdens,

and so fulfill the law of Christ.

Galatians 6:2