I need somewhere for my grief to go temporarily, so here I am writing with really no direction…
I have come to learn that grief really has no place to go. It runs rampant in my mind, and I can feel it infiltrate throughout my body. It’s a deep, passionate love that I have within me to selflessly give, but I cannot. It’s an endless longing to be in the presence of my beloved daughter and sweet daddy, but eternity is where they are. It’s a constant, aching pain that won’t relent, ever. It’s a looming cloud over my mind that leaves a thick layer of fog atop some of my fondest memories. And it never stops. It literally has no place to go.
Grief is also an experience. One that is real, yet is masked by society’s views that we, the grieving, are able to just sweep it under the rug and move on with our lives. It’s like running a marathon every single day whether you want to or not. It’s like imprisoning the love I desire to give for a lifetime. It’s like being lost at sea, all alone, with no place to go. It’s like a constant stabbing to the heart with no end in sight. It’s like driving down memory lane, but all you see is a thick, gray fog everywhere you look. Only once in a while does it seem as though the fog is lifting, only to thicken back up again and leave you wondering if what you remember is what really was.
And yet the drive continues, along windy mountain roads, leading me to the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. The times I’m headed in a downward spiral toward the bottom of the mountain is when my grief turns to anger, bitterness, stubbornness, jealousy, and every undesirable characteristic known to humankind. And as I’m spiraling out of control, I know this is not where I want to be. I don’t want to be at the bottom of the mountain where the brightness of the day is eclipsed by the thick layer of trees. I don’t want to be at the bottom where I can’t open my eyes to see what is out there for me. I know this isn’t what I want, but it happens anyway, because my grief has no where to go.
On the contrary though, there are days in which the drive through grief’s windy roads leads me to the top of the mountain, and the fog has lifted gifting me a clear view. This view is that of hope. My grief still has no where to go, and it’s a painful experience, but I continue to rise from the bottom of the mountain. There are days I get stuck and days I go downward, but hope is always on my side and is a gift from God.
His word says in Romans 5:3-5… And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about PERSEVERANCE; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, HOPE; AND HOPE DOES NOT DISAPPOINT, because the LOVE of GOD has been POURED OUT within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was GIVEN to us.
I am coming to the understanding that I cannot depend on other’s in this world to understand my grief, take on my grief, or to even just meet me in my grief. It’s like an unspoken rule that grief, especially that in which results from the loss of a child, should be buried, never to be embraced. I am slowly learning that GOD will always meet me in my grief. He is the only one that can take this grief and turn it into perseverance, proven character, and ultimately into HOPE.
Grief has an excruciatingly painful side, and yet also has a beautifully bittersweet side. Grief is what keeps me holding onto that hope that God has so graciously provided me with. The hope that my family and I will one day be reunited with my beautiful baby girl, and of course my dad too!
Grief is painful, but I’ll bear that pain for the rest of my days, even when I feel alone. It keeps me holding on, and God will always meet me exactly where I am no matter when I need Him.
I’m glad I started writing to give my grief a temporary resting place. It changed my perspective from when I started this very article. Thank you, Jesus.