Category: Bereavement

Still We Grieve and That’s Okay

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I’m wondering, is there a statute of limitations on mourning?

(Asking for a friend.)

In the hurry-scurry bustle of Christmas the one thing you don’t plan on is burying your only child. That happened to us two Christmases ago.

On a cold December Sunday, in a driving rainstorm so bad we couldn’t even get out of our vehicle, Sandy and I could only watch through blurred windows as the workers lowered our 24-year-old son into the maw of earth. No minister. No ashes to ashes. No seated family as mourners filed by. No quiet assurances. No formal farewell.

There’d been the indoor service already but this was perversely anticlimactic. Sure, we’d had our private goodbyes in the viewing room before the lid was soundly shut, but this – this! – was morose. It was a scene straight out of Copperfield.

And with the caretaker’s back turned to us, busying himself with straps and pulleys, we unceremoniously drove away, leaving him to it. The surging rain protested even more loudly against the metal of the van as we pulled out into traffic.

•  •  •  •

Someone quipped, “God gave us memories so we can have roses in December.” But what if December’s garden shears separate bloom from stem? What, then, is left?

In a single week Sandy felt ambushed by a doctor who suggested counseling (not a support group, mind you, but a shrink), a well-meaning associate (being kind) who bluntly chastised her for not letting it go, and someone even closer who wondered if it might not be time to move on. That was eleven months ago…when Graham had only been covered in earth for a year. A setback, but she powered through by grace.

I, too, have had my moments. Only recently, I had a horrible, terrible, very bad Thanksgiving Day, and, full disclosure, let me tell you why. It was the first holiday where Graham’s name was not mentioned at all by family and friends. But that’s not on them! It’s normal, it fits our patterns and protocols. Really, it’s almost been two years after all. I assure you, it didn’t take me to a dark place of bitterness against anyone, it just made me mindful of the too-soon (for us) end of an era.

Only, it’s not yet over for us, sorry. We’ll continue to keep our distance for awhile longer, but not because we’re loathe to move on. We just need space to grieve. And that’s okay – because in our mourning we’re becoming better worshippers.

Do I grieve for December 16, 2013 and how it all fell out on that day? Some, of course, but mostly what happens after that day. Not seeing Graham win over his demonic addictions and become my best friend through life, no family photos, no grandkids to spoil, no future milestones to celebrate. That’s why they call it losing a loved one, I suppose. There’s so much more you’re forced to give up than a person.

•  •  •  •

When I shared with Sandy what I was going to say in this post, she balked at first. What if everyone thinks we’re depressed? What if they worry after us? Worse, what if they think we think they let us down? Egads, what if a council calls us in?

She said none of those things, of course, but they were hanging there still, unsaid, between us.

So I quickly cantered, explaining it’d be like one of David’s most depressing psalms: starts off all woeful, dark, and hopeless but lands where the Lord always shepherds the troubled who lean into Him real hard. With promise and praise.

No pity, please. We’re not sitting over here needing stroking and tons of cards. (But money, money’s okay.)

😊

We’re good. We’re so good. All is well. Promise.

And this is what we’ve learned so far on our short journey:

  1. Closure is pure psychobabble. Grief is good, for the Lord is most tender with the broken-hearted and that’s a good thing to live with. He isn’t wanting to fix you, He wants to heal you. There’s a difference. One is mechanical, lacking artistry, the other is relational, a long-term, hands-on, intimate shaping process.
  2. Every time you turn to Him for comfort and lay down your arms of accusation, or stiff-arm of inconsolability, He will show you more of Himself – and that will more than suffice even when you’re all too aware of what you’ve lost.
  3. Life tends to shrink and become simpler when you’ve endured a greater loss than anything you’ve ever had to give up. When everyone gets up in arms over the news, or exasperatingly goes after the next new thing, the ones left standing in the wake of such loss – whether long ago or last year – prefer a saner, more quiet place of vigil. They turn to a truer reality. It’s the only thing that will get them through.
  4. While those whose hope and stay is with the One who invented resurrection and life learns to gain a long-view of hope, it’s equally important to know that His Plan unfolds in tiny unimportant moments where you’ll miss heaven on earth if you’re not paying attention. Life is a mist, mortality is an exact science, and tomorrow is a year away. Suck all the marrow out of today. Shorten your pace, lower your arms, be present, and listen for the hum of the homeland in the right now.
  5. Finally, not because it’s the end of our lessons, rather for the sake of your attention span, we’re learning to give people and their issues a wider berth, a more grace-filled response, and, because of our son’s story, refusing to concede too quickly their fate by writing them off. (Not naming names, but I need a lot more work in this area.)

These aren’t losses, but gains. And these are the greater blessings that come through our extended season of bereavement, so we’re not looking to end it too soon.

There’s sooo much more to learn.

And, so, we’ll soldier on, and we’ll still grieve.

And that’s okay.

How (Not) To Comfort A Grieving Mom

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One year ago this month, nine days before Christmas, our only child, Graham Scott, was taken from this world. He was twenty-four years young. If anyone can tell you about the sustaining grace of the Comforter God, we certainly can. He’s good. He grieves with us. His love and glory is worth anything we must endure.

The real hero of the story is my wife and soulmate, Sandy. I’ve sat and watched in awe, witnessing the strength and grace of God move through her these months, like a symphony of quiet confidence, peace and contentment. Most do not have a full appreciation for what she’s gone through, not just through her only child’s passing, but in a long-running melodrama that surrounded his life – before and since.

And yet, recently, in the span of one week, two people who barely know her made suggestions that she wasn’t handling the process of grieving very well.

The first, her hairdresser who only knows her in a salon chair context every few months, mis-took Sandy’s sharing about Graham in the flow of ‘just making conversation’ and informed my wife she just “needed to move on” so she could get on with the business of living. It sounds meaner than it was.
As they say, she meant well.

But still.

The second, just a few days later, was her doctor who, because of changes in our healthcare, was newly assigned as Sandy’s general practitioner of medicine.

SIDENOTE:
The thing about my bride is, when those in highly influential or respected positions begin to probe her to open up about private matters, she becomes weepy. Say, when our spiritual father focuses on her with loving counsel, she’s apt to cry. Or, when my surgeons have met with her, she’s moved by their handling of me and becomes a puddle in the floor.

During her first meeting with her new doctor, whose name is pronounced “cruel” (but she is not), Sandy buckled when questions about her life probed into the soft tissue of her grief over Graham. And she wept.

Do you think you might need grief counsel?” the doctor asked kindly, but still wary and watchful.

Anything’s possible, of course. Lord knows, we’re open to whatever we must do to shed anything that holds us back from moving forward in our faith. But this…this…process has been so supernaturally kissed by grace. Grief counseling? Nope, not thinking that way, but, then again, one should never say never…

Listen, however you slice it, it’s been less than a year.

Yes, we still get sad. We weep at his grave. We miss him. Christmas Day might be a bummer.

And it might not.

We even laugh at his grave. We smile a lot as we remember ‘Graham stories’.

Isn’t this kinda, well, normal?

Move on?

That’s pretty much what we’re doing. Grieving is moving on. It’s when grief is drained of hope that you start regressing, and that’s not us. No sir, not by a long shot.

To tell you how good God is in His expert handling of my Lovely, a few days after this mystifying week for her, she treated her mother to her long-time dream of visiting the Billy Graham Library in Charlotte. During their visit, they were blown away by having the tour, complete with intimate stories of the Graham family, given by none other than the caregiver to Billy’s mother in the final years of her long life!

The stories of “Mother Graham’s” devoted life – her many sorrows and greater triumphs and exuberant faith throughout – stirred Sandy and she knew this was a hug from the God who saw these very things in her. And, of course, she wept!

One valuable resource Sandy reached for during the tour was a card-stock flier embossed with the title:

“What To Say To A Bereaved Parent”

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I’m sure you can write to the library and request this free resource – it’s wonderful! – but let me share some of its main bullet points with you, in closing:

  • What NOT To Say:

I know how you feel.”

  • Say Instead:

I cannot imagine how difficult this is for you.”

  • What NOT To Say:

Are you doing OK?” or “How are you doing?”

  • Say Instead:

How are you holding up?”

  • Other Things NOT To Say:

You’ll feel better before you know it.”

Don’t cry.” (or, “Be strong for your family.”)

God must have needed him/her in heaven.”

At least you have other children.”

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.”

Don’t let this rob you of your joy.”

[Don’t tell the person how they should feel; only respond to how they feel]

[Don’t share personal stories of how your grief compares to yours]

It goes on to suggest offering to pray for the bereaved; to talk openly about the one who has passed; share personal stories, use their name throughout (we can testify when people use Graham’s name repeatedly, it ministers to us); listen…and be comfortable with silence.

Finally, of the MANY meaningful cards and sentiments we received, Sandy was especially moved by our friend Ken’s words. He said while everyone was talking about and remembering Graham,

I don’t want to be remembering him, I want to (still) be knowing him.”

That’s how she truly felt.

And she cried.

Over To You:

What ideas can you add, as either what TO say or what NOT to say to someone who’s going through a difficult time?