Holding onto Loss?

As time goes on, my blog posts have become less centered on the whole topic of grieving, and more focused on how we live faithfully in this broken world — how we seek and find God in the everyday moments. I believe these are lessons we all need, whether we’re grieving or not.

But occasionally, I drift back into the original purpose of this ministry and this blog – sharing insights on how to best walk alongside someone who is grieving a deep loss.  Which brings us to today’s topic. 

I’ve learned to preface some of these potentially “unsettling” topics with a caveat that, lately, has become all too familiar:

“I don’t expect you to understand what I’m going through.

All I ask is that you believe me when I say: this is what it’s like.”

It’s my prayer that this post will accomplish one or two important goals. 

• If you’re “still” grieving a deep loss, you may come to see that there’s a kind of twisted logic in why that pain isn’t necessarily something you’re trying to fix or eliminate. You may, ultimately, feel less alone, knowing that others share this misunderstood turmoil.
• If you’re finding it hard to grasp just how long grief can last, or why, this might offer you a gentle glimpse into that world — and help your wonder turn into real compassion.

I often talk about the fact that “forever grief” (at least in this life) is a real thing.  I will grieve the loss of Dale for the rest of my life, and I know many widows and others with tragic losses feel the same, regardless of whether they verbalize that reality or not.

Am I consciously trying to stay sad?  Am I in denial that Dale is really gone? Do I want to spend the rest of my life living only in deep sorrow?  Of course not. There’s no intentionality on my part around the sorrow that will likely always be a part of my life.  It just is.

Are there any benefits to living with this ongoing heartbreak?  What a strange question, you might ask.  There are, and this is where you may need to repeat my caveat.  Just believe me …

As I near the eight-year anniversary of Dale’s passing, I’ve come to realize—through the years and the various stages of grieving—that these benefits, though somewhat subtle, have shown up in two distinct ways in my own life.

• Deeply grieving the loss of a loved one becomes one of the primary ways that we continue to feel connected to them. Strange as it may sound, if we accept that our grief comes from the deep love we had for them, doesn’t it make sense that a powerful emotion would remain part of that relationship—even after they’re gone? And that it would be one way we continue to feel close to them, even in their absence?

• Continued grief, along with the deep longing to see them again one day, means our anticipation will eventually transform into even greater joy. Or so I believe on this side of Heaven! I think often about how incredible my reunion with Dale will be.  If I were truly “over it” and had “moved on,” there wouldn’t be as much excited anticipation for what’s yet to come. The more I miss him in this life, I believe the greater the joy will be when that reunion finally becomes real. Think of it this way — as a kid, how different was your excitement for Christmas compared to, say, Presidents’ Day? It’s like night and day, right? So, how thrilled were you when Christmas finally arrived? Was there much real excitement for Presidents’ Day? (Sorry, George and Abe.) That’s the idea.

If you’ve struggled to understand the long-term nature of someone’s grief—much like I did for much of my life—I pray this post invites you to pause and take to heart the truth woven into my reflections.

Maybe the goal isn’t to leave our pain in the past and move on as if our loved one meant little to us. Maybe there’s much to be gained by embracing the hurt and discovering the quiet blessings buried deep within the heartache.

When all is said and done, aren’t we essentially “Holding onto Love?”

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three;

but the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13