THREE THINGS GRIEF TAUGHT ME
For just under twelve years my father had been battling cancer in one of the most valiant fights I have seen. When the words were spoken over him, he simply continued on in life not believing them. He believed in the power of story. And the story he wrote over himself was a champion of cancer, through multiple chemotherapy rounds, surgeries, medicines, and every treatment possible.
As the years progressed, so did my dad’s cancer. While he still maintained the overcomer and champion mindset, cancer continued to ravage his body. It started in his colon. Led to his lung. Then his liver. And then his kidney.
The amazing thing was that through all of this, he was resilient. He was strong. He was stubborn and Italian – so of course he was going to defeat cancer, there was no other way.
And then Tuesday, March 10th happened. The day started as any normal day would – I woke up late, ran downstairs to grab coffee, and go on with my normal morning routine. But something was off. My dad, who always said “good morning” was sitting in his chair, left arm shaking, with a look of fear on his face. My dad, the stoic and stubborn one, had no control over his own body.
A few hours later, huddled in a hospital room, we got the final diagnosis. The cancer was in my dad’s brain.
My dad continued to fight, lapsing in and out of medically induced comas. But soon there were no other options. The hospital gave us 3-6 months with him. My dad was transferred to a Hospice to live peacefully for what time he had left.
Months turned to weeks and on April 18th my dad went Home to be with his Heavenly Father and transitioned to heaven. All of this, amidst a global pandemic.
It’s hard to put to words just how deep and raw and agonizing the loss of a parent feels. The initial wave of shock. The anger. The sorrow. The guilt over laughing at memories or an episode of New Girl instead of grieving as I should be.
But in this post, I want to share with you three things I learned about grief. I’m not a professional and I want to preface this with: I’m still learning. Three months later, my grieving process is far from over.
There’s a big difference between feeling comfortable with a situation and having peace in a situation.
Okay, so I can’t take credit for this because it came from the first counseling session after my dad’s passing. But this hit me.
For me, comfort means I am free from stress. It means I’m enjoying physical comfort or security. Peace, on the other hand, is defined as a state of tranquility or harmony. In Jesus, we know that we are given a peace that surpasses all understanding.
I think a lot of the time I equate comfort to peace. I believe I should feel good. But I realized I wasn’t comfortable with the fact that my dad had passed. I don’t know that I’ll ever feel comfortable in this new normal I’ve been forced into. But I do know that I can feel the peace of God. I can recount moments in my grief where He has flooded me with His peace and His presence.
““I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.””
What this says to me is that regardless of the troubles I face, I can have peace because of Jesus. So while the loss of my dad might never feel comfortable, amidst the struggle of grief I can find peace.
Maybe you are grieving the loss of someone amidst a pandemic. Or perhaps it’s the loss of a dream. Coronavirus came and threw our lives into chaos. . There’s grief to be felt in all of these circumstances.
Community might be messy, but it’s always worth it. And when you’re grieving, it’s important to have people in your corner who know you and are there for you.
Whatever it is that you are facing or walking through, peace is a promise you can cling to. It’s easy to search for what’s comfortable at the moment, but being forced into a position of discomfort ultimately allows us to feel the peace of God.
Take it from an enneagram 8 (hates loss of control, desires justice, protective, assertive, determined) who despises the thought of being vulnerable and transparent. Community is worth it.
When you’re grieving, you need people in your life who are there for you. People who will show up when needed. People who will pick up the phone. People who will be there for the long haul.
I didn’t need someone with all of the answers. I needed (and continue to need) someone to validate my feelings. To let me know that my tears were okay and call me out when my grieving was getting unhealthy.
I would shy away from being a support for friends in their time of loss or need because I felt that I needed all of the answers. Or I would shy away because what I thought someone needed was space and time. So instead of saying anything, I would give space and time. Which more often was the worst response. My own grieving process taught me that someone simply being there for me changes everything.
It’s also important that I go to Jesus with these things. It’s easy to stiff-arm Him in the aftermath of loss (at least it was for me). But I kept people around me who called me out and prayed for me. Who didn’t let me run too far from the cross.
Things didn’t need to look cookie-cutter perfect with Him either. I could approach Him crying one morning, angry or even apathetic. There was a wide array of emotions I’m continuing to show and no matter what He is there for me. This assurance, that He will never leave or forsake me (Deut. 31:6), is something I can cling to.
There’s no timeline for grief. You can’t control it.
There will be good days and there will be bad days. There will be moments where you are laughing and enjoying the joy of a moment only to be hit by the weight of guilt at experiencing an emotion other than sorrow or anger.
I wanted there to be a lightbulb moment. I wanted to give my grief 3-6 weeks to work itself out. Ironically, it was at the 4-week mark that the weight of grief actually hit me.
I spent the first four weeks in shock. . I numbed myself with Great British Bake Off and the plethora of food that was dropped off for us by friends and relatives who we couldn’t even hug because of coronavirus. There were many sleepless nights, but not many tears past the day my dad passed. It was hard for me to articulate my emotions because I almost felt nothing.
But once the weight of grief hit me, it was as if the floodgates opened. My anger and short temper shocked me. The panic attacks and night terrors stopped me sleeping. . My dad’s death became this root in the back of my mind that seeped into everything: work, reading, sleep. Things that reminded me of him would send me spiraling. There was grief for what happened and grief for all that I wouldn’t experience with him. And I cried. Finally.
And even that is not the hardest part of the grieving process, according to an article by Dr. Caroline Leaf. She says the hardest part of grieving starts about three to six months after the initial loss when the shock has worn off.
This is why it’s so important to have people for the long haul in your corner. The cards stopped coming, for the most part, people stopped reaching out long before my first Father’s Day without my dad. But when that day happened, it was gutting and overwhelming. Father’s Day was right around the 3-month mark and I felt the sorrow like a ton of bricks.
I thought I had already mourned and walked through the grieving process. But I had barely begun.
I’m a control freak, so I hate that there’s no timeline on my grief. It’s a wholly unique and personal process. But God says, “For everything there is a season … a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-4). My mourning will end, and my time of weeping will come to a close – but I have to ride out those emotions and those feelings for the season allotted. Joy will come in the morning.
Although I had somewhat prepared for my dad’s passing, I was not prepared for grief. Grief is unique for everyone and I am still learning, but I have learned that there’s a difference between comfort and peace, the need for people in my corner, and that there’s no timeline to grief.
If you feel comfortable, I would love to hear about your experiences with moving through grief and what helped you get through it in the comments below.
