Observing Grief

He is not here. I cannot pick up the phone and call. I cannot ask for his advice about anything--even if it is big, and I don't want to make the decision without his input. And when I go for a walk, I cannot feel his hand in mind; neither can I feel his quiet presence and gentleness.

These are no longer options. And the harsh reality is that his chair will be empty this Thanksgiving and Christmas, too. He will not show up on my doorstep with his tools, ready to help do something that needed doing. Some of his books are mine now, because although he loves reading, he no longer needs them. He will never need them again.

His clothing has already been given to new owners; his tools distributed; his few mementos, lovingly packed away.

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Group Grieving

A few weeks ago, mom and I visited a grief group, with 8 or 9 others whose hearts were sore and ginger, whose emotions were just below the surface, waiting to gush out.

And the social worker named Clare kindly and gently explained to us what to expect from this strange process of letting go of a beloved one whom we do not quite know how to live without.

The 26-year-old new mom who lost her daddy to a 10-year fight with cancer acknowledged her pain--wishing her dad would have lived 18 days longer to meet his first grandbaby. If only. A well-mannered elderly couple lost their vibrant, 50-year-old boy, when they should have gone first; she kept a quiet composure, her husband spoke only with tears welling over.

A mom lost her teenage girl to leukemia, after a brave three-year struggle. Another lost her once strong husband whose personality loomed bigger than life--his vibrancy replaced with silence as she faces an empty house and an equally empty bed.

There is no efficiency to grieving. It upsets your life, leaving a gaping hole where life has been snuffed away, and all you can do is be willing to face it as it comes.

Yes, Clare explains, when your loved one has cancer you do experience anticipatory grief. It is a way of preparing for what's coming. But you don't get extra credit or a "get out of grief" free card. Your journey is not shortened; you must still walk the road of coming to terms with your loss.

And so we are, one day at a time; one memory here, another there; tears that start and stop, healing and grace that comes through a card or a hug. Serenity that comes through drinking in nature's beauty or sitting quietly with a friend or loved one.

Honestly, I think we are coming through the shock of his absence from us. Now we must be willing to face the pain that will surface and to acknowledge "the greater the love, the loss." I would never take back the richness of our relationships with dad or the depth of our love.

A love well-spent, to be remembered and cherished throughout eternity.

A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.
Psalm 68:5