Grief is a strange emotion.
It manifests itself in many ways, ranging from numbed shock and disbelief to resigned acceptance, from sobs that shake the whole body to a dull ache which can’t easily be identified, from the bittersweet memories that have us laughing one moment to weeping the next. Grief can sweep us off our feet some days as we reach out to telephone our loved ones or call to visit, only to remember with fierce regret that we can never do that again. Grief washes over us like the waves of the sea, sometimes fierce, battering, pounding us with apparently relentless, merciless energy, sometimes soft and gentle but still inexorably wet.
There are stages of grief, they tell us, including denial, anger, bargaining, depression and ultimately acceptance, but these are not linear. It can feel as though we inhabit all five at the same time. The world seems surreal. Outwardly, life continues. We eat, we sleep, we go about our daily tasks. We often look no different to others. But there are shadows in our eyes; there is a brain fog in our thinking which renders ordinary decisions almost impossible to take. It’s as if our loved one consumes all our thinking, all our energy, and so we feel lifeless and listless. Sometimes, if death has come after a period of illness, when our emotional energy has been spent caring for and visiting someone, there is physical exhaustion too, but more than anything, grief uses vast stores of emotional energy, leaving us unable to care about anything else.
The Bible offers us hope during the journey of grief, likening life itself to a journey whose destination is not on the world’s shore or borders. It speaks of death like sleep. My younger granddaughter still naps during the daytime, and her older sister frequently becomes impatient during this period, wanting to wake her sister so they can continue to play. We too experience the frustration of impatience: we may have the hope of resurrection and reunion in the future, but there are days when we would do anything to be able to wake the person now, here, in our world, and tell them our news and play with them again.
The Bible does not tell us not to grieve. It acknowledges the reality and inevitabililty of grief in a sin-cursed world. But it does shine light into the dark abyss of grief and remind us that the darkness has not, nor will not, overcome the light. (John 1:5)
As we walk this journey – often crumpled by the wayside, often dragging our heels once the manic activity of organising a funeral abates, often limping with blistered feet and aching hearts, God sustains us in ways that are deeply personal to us. For me, every time I have faced death in person, He has dropped a song into my heart which reorients me to truth. He won’t do this for everyone, but He has ways of grabbing our attention that are deeply personal to us and tailored to our needs, because He is a merciful and compassionate God. We are not alone in our grief. God is there with us, to comfort and to bless.
