Grief

I’ve been thinking a lot about grief lately, and the different ways people grieve. I don’t believe there is a right way to grieve. Everyone grieves how they need to.

It’s no secret that Scott & I have lost many loved ones in the last four years. But grief isn’t always about someone who has died. It can also be about a lost dream. Those that knew me my Jr year in college had a front row seat to my life’s train wreck as I watched my dream die and my world come crashing in on me. (Those that didn’t know me, count your blessings. It wasn’t a pretty picture.) I was so devastated that it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. I needed people to lift me up, to support me, to tell me what to do next. I grieved very loudly. (Thank you to everyone that endured that year and the two years after that with me. I know it wasn’t easy for anyone, and that it wasn’t a pleasure to answer my phone calls.)

Monday is Grandpa’s birthday. To be honest, I’m not certain how old he would be. I think he would have turned 78 this year, but I would have to ask Mom. And Wednesday marks a year since Grandma passed away. It was hard to lose them within months of each other. It’s sad knowing that I am the only one left living that has memories of the month I spent with them when I was 14 years old. It’s lonely thinking like that. (I’m the baby in the picture.)

When Scott lost his Dad three years ago, he shut down. He closed himself off. He grieved in private. It drove me crazy! I had no idea what he was thinking or how he was feeling. At times, I was so frustrated! I just wanted him to talk to me, to tell me what what was going on inside of him. I have never lost someone that close to me (and pray that I don’t lose anyone close to me anytime soon), so I couldn’t relate to his pain. Scott grieved alone. His whole family did.

C.S. Lewis described his own grief this way:

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.

“At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.” (A Grief Observed)

When Grandpa passed away, I didn’t find out for a few hours. He died while I was taking my certification exam. I returned to my parents house, to find the house quiet. I went to the cold room (the room above the garage) and called Scott to tell him about my exam. An hour later, I heard someone in the kitchen. I went out to find my dad. Dad gave me the news.

I felt like I had been hit in the stomach. It had been expected. We were told 5 months previous that Grandpa had cancer and wasn’t expected to live long. Grandpa was in denial for the first few months. He believed he could beat it. After Grandma died, Grandpa resigned himself to his fate. I don’t blame him. He missed Grandma. She had suffered from dementia for 10 years. He had cared for her  all those years keeping her at home, but missing her companionship.

Everyone else it seemed had come to terms with Grandpa’s death or at least were trying to carry on with life as normally as possible. I tried to play along. I took care of my family. It was only once Lily was asleep for the night that I finally allowed myself to cry.

Scott was surprised to find me crying in bed that night. I had been grieving in secret. Even though its been 10 months, there are still days that I find myself missing Grandma & Grandpa. It’s selfish, I know. They are happier now. They still check on us and strengthen us on our darker days.

I’m grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ. I have the assurance of knowing that our existence is more than just this mortal life. Our relationships extend beyond the grave. And someday, I will be reunited with all those that have passed on before me.