Reclaiming Grief

 Boy, do I remember those dark days well... 

The ones where remembering felt like my heart was about to rip right open and the tears freely spilled out. The ones where all I wanted to do was stay at home and think about my loss, mourning a future cut-short. The ones where I sensed that my sadness was this barrier of disconnect between myself and others - where it seemed the more prudent option to stay out of the public eye rather than field the questions of "are you okay?" 

Perhaps you know these days well yourself. 

Such is the path, the journey, of grief. 

Saying goodbye to someone you love, regardless of relation... saying goodbye to dreams left untaken... saying goodbye to anything or anyone while simultaneously feeling that happiness looks like faking... yeah, it's real and it's raw and it's hard. Man, is it hard. 

And it seems like those days will never end. Like hope is a myth and joy is a cruel taunter of sadness and the whole world looks like it carries on without you and all you can do is sometimes lie in bed and sob. Think about what could-have-been and what will never be. What was and what isn't. It's a constant tension of existing in the wrestle while also wanting to just nestle and be held. Such is life in the aftermath of loss. And aftermath most of us go through at some point yet never seem to want to talk openly about. After all, loss is personal and largely private. 

Fourteen months. 

That's how long it took me before I started to sense a glimmer of my old self coming back. A few more laughs, less tears, more frequent good days strung together than bad ones. But to tell you the truth, there was a time I wasn't sure if that me would ever come back. My dear Alex's death had changed everything and I didn't know if it was possible to live again, love again, hope again after experiencing an ending I never asked for. 

Life felt like a blur but certain other things had never felt clearer and one of those was simply this: I just wanted to grieve well. I didn't know such a thing was possible, but I wanted to mourn in a way that was most honoring to my best friend and would make me better when all was said and done. In all honesty, what that looked like day-to-day changed. Sometimes hourly. But through it all, I kept on going because I knew that this pain had to seed something good or else all I was going through would be in vain. And I didn't want that. Didn't want this loss to end up in me losing my own life and my own faith, also. God had, after all, promised to give "the oil of joy for mourning" (Isaiah 61:3)... I just didn't know when I would see that come to fruition. 

And yet, here I am, well over three years later, having passed many a day filled with bittersweet memories and emotions. Dates on the calendar have brought with them feelings of sadness and wishes that I could just have him back for a short while and feel that big, strong hug once again. But as I kept on moving my feet a little at a time (and sometimes, I honestly don't know how I did it!), I've felt given grace for these moments and strength for building a life without my brother-figure in my world. Without several other deceased loved ones in my world, too. 

And strangely, I've noticed a change in the last few months when it comes to how I grieve. It's true that the tears still come and my heart still mourns. The dates still come and go, and I think of how much I miss him. That will never change. But what has occurred is this desire to reclaim that grief in a wholesome way. Sitting at home and hiding in my loss doesn't feel so appealing anymore. Instead, I want to go do something with that pain and use it for good. Sometimes it has looked like finding a way to celebrate by eating his favorite food. Other times, it has looked like going to visit my Marine Corps family and hang out with my newer friends at the local recruiting offices and taking care of the ones still left. And always, it looks like a text or a call to his mom and dad, letting them know that we will always be family because of him, and that his loss will link our hearts forever. 

I share this because perhaps you're back in those dark days yourself, wondering if the light will ever come again. If you'll ever smile again. If you'll ever feel alive again. Maybe your loss wasn't your best friend but was rather your spouse or a child or a sibling or a parent. Regardless of what it is you're mourning, I want you to know that, if you keep going, there will come a time when you will choose to reclaim your own grief for good. To harness the power of your loss and realize that it can seed something hopeful for the future, however impossible that seems now. 

You'll never stop thinking about or remembering or mourning what you had and who you lost. But you will notice a turn in the path where you start to figure out who you are now in light of that pain and what you'd like life to look like as you're making peace with your loss. There will come a day when you start to understand that your grief has brought with it a responsibility to steward it well - to take what it has taught you and use it to bring about something redemptive in the world and in yourself. And I just want to say that I hope you find the courage to take that step when it comes. To let your loss enlarge the landscape of your soul instead of close you off to hope forever. 

May this just be a friendly reminder to walk this road with dignity and trust - trust in the One holding your hand through it all and trust that the sunrise will appear on the horizon in its own time. This valley, like all other valleys, will have an exit someday. But until then, hold your grief gently, and let God gently hold you.