In her book Safe Passage, Molly Fumia says, “The experience of grieving cannot be ordered or categorized, hurried or controlled, pushed aside or ignored indefinitely. It is as inevitable as breathing, as change, as love. It may be postponed, but it will not be denied!”
My seventeen-year-old died in the month of February. The casseroles stopped arriving, and our friends and family returned to the mantle of everyday life before spring. Shortly thereafter, I quit pretending to be full of strength and succumbed to the grief that was swallowing me whole.
One fall morning, after crawling out of bed to get my boys off to school and myself ready for work, I heard a knock on my bedroom door. Curt poked his head in. “Mama, sorry to bother you, but we don’t have any clean jeans to wear to school.” I told him, “Sorry, honey. Please go to the laundry room and find your cleanest dirty jeans.” Now I was forgetting to do the laundry. The truth is, I was doing hardly anything. And yet, I was doing everything I possibly could. It’s just that what was possible was very little.
A friend told me to be patient with myself and allow at least one year to get through the worst. While very true, his advice and encouragement devastated me! I couldn’t imagine living in such despair for an entire year! I was trying to survive until lunch. Thinking long-term meant hanging on until the milk expired. I was deep in the throes of grief.
I needed the approval to be in my nightgown sobbing hysterically at 3:00 in the afternoon, validation that forgetting appointments was to be expected, and confirmation that allowing Burger King to feed my family night after night was not the unpardonable sin.
My friend was right. Giving myself time, space, and permission to grieve was imperative. It took a long time. It was excruciating. It was ugly. And it was necessary.
Grief will not be denied.
Friend,
That was many years ago. I did survive.
If you’re in that state now, you will survive too.
Although there were times I felt like I God was distant and like I spiraling down a dark tunnel, I know now that I was never alone.
Jesus met me in my grief. He suffered with me. He wept with me. He embraced me. And He gave me purpose.
Lean into Him. Cry out to Him. Surrender to Him. Cling to the hope that comes from knowing Him.
I’m praying that fiercely and fervently for you today.
Shelley
