What Grief Taught Me This Year
"You are learning to be brave. You are finding that even though it might be so hard to move on in this way, there is still boundless grace that says, “Your story will go on anyway.”- morgan harper nichols
Friends, 2019, did not go as planned.
This is ironic because 2019 started as my most planned-out year on the books. I launched a website at the end of 2018, leaning into a “Bold and Brave Faith.” I hosted a goal-setting planning gathering at my house, complete with a vast dream board for 2019. During an exciting new year where I planned content and launched a podcast, God gave me the word “FEARLESS” for the year. It was shaping up to be the kind of year where I boldly pursued my calling. And then mid-January, I lost my grandmother unexpectedly. Her death and the events surrounding it plunged me into the hardest, darkest season of my life.
Grief showed up with a different set of plans.
I learned that being “fearless” doesn’t always mean being brave enough to dream big, set goals, conquer mountains, and rack up accomplishments. Sometimes being “fearless” means being brave enough to survive each day when your heart is broken, to do hard things to take care of your mental health and well-being, and to adjust to life without the presence of the one constant source of love in your life.
As a new year starts and I approach the first anniversary of my Ma’s passing tomorrow, I want to share with you a little of what grief taught me this year.
Grief is normal, but there isn’t a “normal” response to grief.
I confess that I thought I would be a “good” griever. I am secure in my faith. I’ve ministered and loved many friends who have walked through a season of grief. I wholeheartedly believe in the foundations of Christianity and eternal life and know that my grandmother was welcomed home. And I fully expected that I would be sad, but that I would rebound quickly, say “oh, but she is in a better place" and move on. Nothing prepared me for the depths of emotions and despair that I felt in the days and weeks following her loss. Nothing prepared me for the loss of a daily presence who was my go-to person. Nothing prepared me for the loneliness I felt when I no longer had our daily calls to look forward to after I dropped the boys off at school. Nothing prepared me for how deep and dark it felt. Nothing prepared me for the guilt and shame that overwhelmed me that I wasn’t handling this better; I wasn’t rallying quick enough. I wasn’t “moving on” fast enough. And that’s when I learned my second lesson.
Grief is isolating.
I’ve learned that grief leads to different responses, emotions, and timelines for different people. My grief didn’t seem to fit. Mine lingered too long. It continued to run as the undercurrent of my daily life. C. S. Lewis, in writing about the death of his wife, said, “Her absence is like the sky. It stretches over everything.” It became a presence that began to affect every relationship and every part of my life. I found myself withdrawing from relationships. And unless a person has experienced a devastating loss, it is almost impossible for even the most well-meaning friends to help carry the weight of emotions of grief. Emotions, I was surprised by which taught me my third lesson.
Grief can keep you from living.
In the weeks following her passing, I was living in a fog. Rarely able to get out of bed. Unable to read, write, or perform anything related to my seminary classes. I was utterly paralyzed by pain. When I did try, and I did; I ended right back up in the same spot. I was completely shut down from life. I had a girls trip planned months before, and everyone close to me was encouraging me to go. I tried. I attempted to pack a suitcase. I tried to turn in an assignment. It all crashed, and for the first time in my life, I found myself on the bathroom floor in a debilitating panic attack. I couldn't breathe. I couldn’t move. Justin found me and called my best friend. They worked together to get me through it. He packed my suitcase. She arranged for someone to get me. I remember him leaving for work and coming right back. He said, “I need to know if you can be alone. That this isn’t one of those situations where there were warning signs of something more serious, and we ignored them.” And that was the moment that I learned my fourth lesson.
Grief sometimes requires professional help.
I will be forever grateful for that scary day in the bathroom when the people who love me most said, “Let’s get you some help.” Let’s talk about medication. Let’s work through these emotions. Forget all the things you planned. Drop out of everything. Say “no” to everything. Take care of yourself. In therapy, I learned that my new battle with anxiety and fear was a response to grief. My overwhelming panic on a daily basis that I would lose my kids or my husband was a response to the deep pain of loss. I learned strategies for dealing with all the inevitable “first” milestones. Slowly, but surely twice a month, I had a safe place and a safe person to address the weight of my sorrow and darkness. It changed my life. If you are struggling, let me say the same words to you today, “It’s ok to get help. It’s ok to take care of you. You are not alone. Everything you are experiencing is normal.”
And let me reassure you and encourage you that one day, the fog will lift. You will learn to live again even in the midst of loss.
Anne Lamott writes, “You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
Even though I am one year farther from the last time I heard her voice, I know that I am one year closer to a joyous reunion with her. Thank you for praying for me, encouraging me and loving me this year while I learned to dance again.