Grief is a sneaky little bastard - but a noble one
Today, as I am writing this, I am grieving. It is the surging and surprising grief that quickly makes your eyes water and your belly convulse and leaves you with sniffle-breathing - you know that breathing that happens when you take one breath in and it turns into 6 mini-breathes like when you sniffled as a kid. And it is always 6 - at least it is for me…
Two years ago today my dad died. It was completely unexpected. I got a 911 text from my wife while I was mountain biking. I left my phone in the car and didn’t see it. When I did see it, after my friend and I had already loaded our bikes and gear and were on our way home, I phoned immediately. My wife’s voice was different than usual - a strong combination of compassion and focus. She told me my dad had passed away in his sleep.
And grieving began. And it is still here. Especially today - the 2-year mark.
But it’s not here all the time. Grief really is a sneaky little bastard…sneaking up on me at any moment of any day, with that belly convulsing and sniffle breathing.
Grieving may be a sneaky little bastard, but it is also a noble visitor. It reminds me of some important things:
Grieving is an honor. I think we are are the only creatures who can experience joy and pain simultaneously. We love deeply and because of that, we grieve deeply too. So grieve and do it nobly and sloppily, with tears and snot and heartache and hope.
The joy and pain of grief are strange bed-fellows. They share the same intimate space in our heart. At times they wrestle over the expensive real estate of our heart. At times, they yield to each other and commingle as strange bed-fellows - each with their own side of the bed. Most of the time they are civil to each other. But there are times, that they both come out at the same time, wrestling for my attention. So I give them both their due time. I remember the joy of life and relationship and I remember the pain of separation and loss. I consider them both gifts.
Grieving lasts a lifetime. Mourning is different from grieving. Mourning is for a season - as we learn to live with loss. Grieving comes and goes. I still grieve the loss of my step-dad who adopted me after he and my mother got married - he was unexpectedly killed (murdered) 39 years ago (that’s a whole other story…). There are still times to this day that I start belly-crying and sniffle-breathing over him.
People are worth grieving over - and being joyful over. The fact is that if you didn’t love someone, you wouldn’t grieve over them. And if you didn’t have joy from having known them and from being loved by them, you wouldn’t grieve over them. So remember the joy that COMES (not that came) from having loved them and from being loved by them.
Grieving creates legacy. As I ponder my dad today, how much I love him, how much he loved me - as I remember the particulars of our story, and how much he was always my corner, I tell people around me about him and our story. My dad lives on in and through me by the way I live my life, and by the way I tell people about about him and about us. So tell someone about someone you grieve over. Tell them both the joy and the pain. The one you grieve over is worth it, and so are you!
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