My Journey of Grief

This month marks a year since my Dad died. I thought it might be useful to note some observations I have had about loss, grief, and recovery:

Individuality of Grief – Until you have been through the death of a parent or someone very close to you, there is no way of knowing what it is really like to go through grief. I was ignorant of grief’s twist and turns and ups and downs. I had been guilty in the past of expecting people just to snap out of it and move on. Now I know how insensitive and arrogant that mentality was. Grief is a real thing and there isn’t a clear formula for how it progresses.

Loneliness – When you lose someone so close to you it is like a part of you has been severed off, never to be replaced. I miss that part that was lost and never getting it back is a lonely feeling. There were months of just deep loneliness despite the great love and belonging I have around me.

Letchworth State Park, one of the incredible scenic locales that I have experienced over the last year. 

Counseling helps – I was blessed enough to have, on my campus, free counseling that allowed me weekly conversations about the grief process and all that was associated with my particular situation. As an introverted, contemplative thinker type, I am much more accustomed to the conversations I have with myself. Yet, here was a trained person blocking out an hour a week to listen to me and help me through my issues. At one point, my counselor asked me, what do you think has been the most beneficial part of our time together? We agreed that it wasn’t any of the activities he had me do or the strategies we worked out, it was the chance to talk about my dad, my sadness, my loneliness, and how I try to cope with these situations.

God provides – In the midst of my grief and inner turmoil, God provided the Apprentice Experience to give me resources and capacities to grow in the midst of my grief and not to be swallowed up by it. I have incredible co-workers who provided support, prayers, and practical acts of service that made me feel loved and strengthened my resiliency. I had unusual opportunities to travel, see some beautiful sights, and breath in God’s wonderful creation (see photo above.) It was life-giving and soul restoring.

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Blogging In Crisis

How do you write when you would rather just sleep?

How do you write when everyday you feel like you have just been run over by a bus?

How do you write when you have been drained of every ounce of profundity or insight?

How do you write when just getting up in the morning to go to work is your greatest accomplishment for the day?

Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that I have gotten off my usual pattern. For months, I would put out two blog posts a week. I haven’t been able to do that this summer. I lack the mental, spiritual, and physical capacity at this moment to keep to that schedule.

All of my posts recently have centered on my dad’s illness and death and my part in that equation. From a spiritual sense, that is about all that I can address right now. Before this summer, I would have post ideas brewing days before and when it was time for me to write something, my thoughts would be primed and ready to go. But lately, the only thought I have brewing regarding this blog have been, “I hope I can get at least one out this week.”

detour

I haven’t lost my morning routine. I have remained consistent, yet not up to date, with my Apprentice Experience reading. I even exercise regularly. But expressing myself beyond my rawest emotions and most evident reflections has been difficult.

I write this not as a way to whine or to elicit sympathy but to tell you part of the toil that struggle and grief can take on a person. I also write this to give you a marker for how I am doing with my grief.

When I get back to two posts a week and can start writing about subjects that don’t involve disease, struggle, and death, then you will know I am doing better. I am just not there yet.

Where Is God When It Hurts?

During the final months of my dad’s life, I learned that God takes care of you even when you think he isn’t taking care of you.

There were many prayers for my dad, and myself, that went unanswered. Prayers for his healing, prayers for his ease of mind, prayers for an easier situation for my dad, as well as for my mom and my sister and I. Those prayers seemed to go unanswered.

But all around the situation seemed to be evidence of God’s care for us in profound ways.

One such incident occurred the day I returned to work after a few days of helping my Mom care for my dad. These few days were some of the lowest points in the slow awful process of his cancer. He had become non-communicative and his attempts to walk and conduct just the most routine of movements had become almost impossible. We were forced to start looking at options for care outside of our own capabilities.

I was beat down and frustrated and helpless. Still, I had to work and fulfill my duties of my job.

A computer in our area was not logging on correctly and the usual fix was to climb underneath the computer station and start to mess with the chords. As I was doing this, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I saw that it was a torn out piece of paper with some words on it. I figured it was just trash and would quickly discard it. But, I did take a look at the writing and noticed these words:

“Cast all of your worries on him because he cares for you.” 1 Peter 5:7

Who knows how long that piece of paper had sat there, maybe weeks or maybe even months before I found it. And for me to find it at one of the lowest points of one of the lowest moments of my life was no mere coincidence or good luck. God was providing for me, was encouraging me, and was reassuring me of his great care.

Carillon_de_Taninges

Wikimedia Commons

When my dad died, my wife was out of the country on a mission trip. The care and love that she received from the local believers in Zambia demonstrated that God’s love and provision is available half way around the world. The day he died, 22 girls at a Girl’s Retreat, which my wife help lead, sought and received Christ’s gift of salvation.

In the absence of my wife and her present support, three of the staff members of our church drove 170 miles to attend the funeral. Also, three colleagues at work made a similar trip to demonstrate concern, compassion, and support. Two of my longest and dearest friendships were represented and found me before the funeral to bring me encouragement and comfort.

I could go on and on in demonstrating how God was present and moving during this time.

Sometimes, as we look for God’s big miracles we miss all of the thousands of little miracles all around us. My dad was lost to us too early and under great strain and suffering. There is no denying the awfulness of his disease and what it did to his mind and body. I don’t understand why it was necessary for him to go through all of that and why we had to watch it happen. But in spite of that grim reality, I saw God work. I felt God’s comfort. I experienced God’s provision. I tasted his goodness. God was with me and with my family and with my wife. He never abandoned us.

“What’s lost is nothing to what’s found, and all the death that ever was, set next to life, would scarcely fill a cup.”

—Frederick Buechner, Godric, 96.