Welcoming Grief

As I go through the process of grieving my lost daughter, I'm learning more and more that it is a journey through uncharted territory. Many, many people have gone through grief before I did; and many more people will experience it after me. But it is a new journey for each person and no one goes through it the same way. You can try to share your experience with others, but it is something that each person has to live for themselves in order to truly understand it.

I've learned a lot about grief. I've learned some of the cliches that I thought I already knew. I learned some new things that no one had ever told me before. Like how tired grief makes you. How distracted you get afterward. How you lose interest in things you loved before. I have also learned that people treat you differently.

I don't mean that they shy away from you (although many other men and women in my shoes have experienced this). I have been lucky/blessed enough to have friends that rally around us in our struggle. But people (without realizing it, perhaps), seem to equate "grief" with "depression."

All of their words of intended comfort sound to me like the optimist's "Cheer up! Look on the bright side!" must sound to someone suffering from depression. Sadness in our society is on the level of a disease, something abnormal that needs to be corrected. "Move on," I keep hearing, even though these words aren't ever spoken to me. "You will heal," is more common. "It will get easier."

Some of these platitudes come from other bereaved parents, which rather surprised me. After all, shouldn't they know how impossible it is to accept that we lost our precious, beautiful, beloved daughter for any reason? Perhaps they are simply further along in the grieving process than I am and have arrived at a place where you can "move on," "heal," or whatever. But my opinion is that they are simply grasping at straws, trying to find meaning in a horrible situation. It's the human response. But I don't think of it as the "right" one.

After all, when something horrible happens, don't we have the right to be sad about it? Don't we owe it to our lost loved ones to mourn them, to grieve, to hurt? People quote Bible verses to me about comfort and about God's plan. But remember the story of Lazarus? Jesus knew His plan. He knew that He was going to raise Lazarus from the dead, and undo all the grieving and hurt that Mary and Martha were feeling. (This is one reason why this story is so painful to the grieving.) And still, He wept. He experienced sadness. He grieved; He mourned.

I have learned that grief can be beautiful. Living with grief can (and often does) ruin us in a way. But that doesn't have to be a bad thing. It helps us recognize that this life is flawed, and that (as children of God) we aren't meant for this life. Horrible experiences in this life remind us of the life to come and make us yearn for it.

Grief can also become our monument to the one we lost, our reassurance that they can--in some way--live on.

So the greatest lesson I have learned on grieving is that it is not a disease. It is not abnormal. It is not, sadly, contagious (I wish that others--myself included--could learn these lessons without having to live them). It is a natural part of life. Sadness and emptiness and loss can be welcomed, nurtured, (dare I say it?) healthy.

So the next time someone you know is grieving, try to see their feelings of loss and anguish as beautiful. Put yourself in their shoes, feel what they are feeling, and then imagine what you would want to hear. Would you feel comforted knowing that there was a good reason they lost their daughter, brother, or husband? Would it make you feel better to know that God wanted that person to die so that you could learn a lesson? But you might be comforted by someone else agreeing that sometimes, bad things just happen. Life sometimes sucks. And grief can be beautiful.