One of the lessons I’ve learned in the twenty-two years since Joseph’s death is that grief recovery is a lifelong journey. This side of heaven, I won’t fully recover. But I am growing into it.
When I was a little girl, I couldn’t wait to grow into Louise Palermo’s orange dress. Louise, a couple of years older than me, often gifted me the clothes she’d outgrown. I was so excited to receive the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen – the one I envied on Louise for over a year. Even though it was a size eight and I had barely grown into a size six, I wore it to school weekly. Eventually, I grew into it. Grief recovery is like that. Over time and as you grow, it fits a little better.
I still long for Joseph. I hear his voice when I close my eyes and think about him. My son’s birth, life, and death are part of my story that I want to carry forward and allow to transform me. I’ve seen glimpses of the transformation, and I am grateful.
Those first couple of years after Joseph died, I wanted to die too. Not only did I long for him with all my soul, but I was also desperate for relief from the rawness and exhaustion of grief.
Growing into my grief is refining my faith, and it has made me more sensitive to the pain of others. That’s something I’m grateful for.
I miss my old life with Joseph, yet there are things about my new life I’ve grown to love, too. When we left our home of thirty-one years and moved to a new town, we left a little of our grief behind but brought some with us. I’m thankful for the friends God had here who were ready to welcome us into their lives. Some have sorrows of their own. I am thankful that God allowed me to stand in the gap for them when they needed someone to be strong.
I don’t understand why Joseph had to die in a car accident at the age of seventeen, but I choose to believe that his death and my consequent grief are part of a much bigger story authored by God.