Good Grief

It’s been a while since I’ve been able to put fingers to the keys. I have been working behind the scenes on a new series. That will come later. In the meantime, today’s offering comes directly from the heart.

There is no right or wrong way to traverse the passage of grief. Each of us tends to travel the path alone because our journey is unique to our experience.

Even so, I want to tell you one thing: you are not alone. I am wandering this path with you.

So, grab yourself a cuppa, curl up in your favourite chair and join me as we take this journey together.

Dad in March 2025

The day after Dad’s burial I was meant to go to my friend’s fiftieth birthday celebration. The party was at a restaurant in his home town in The Burbs on the other side of London. I wanted to go, at least a part of me did, but I had enough sense beforehand to send my apologies and schedule some recovery time instead.

I was supposed to travel there with an old friend from uni. I told him my news and the reasons for my decision to stay put.

‘Losing my dad hit me like a sledgehammer,’ he said.

‘Yeah. I have now lost both parents and my brother. I’m the last Cave standing.’

‘Dang, so you’re a pro at this grief thing?!? That’s quite the record.’

The message continued, offering words of support and comfort, but this particular comment stayed with me.

I meditated on it. I chewed it over.

Was I a pro?

Not really. None of us is a pro at grief. Grief swipes; it punches below the belt; it bites and stings when you least expect it. The only thing I do know is that each loss hits differently. Each loss brings its own set of rules and draws something unique out of us.

An expert I certainly am not.

Death stinks. There is no two ways about it. But there is always a beauty that emerges from the devastation. It takes time for us to see it.

One of Dad’s favourite ways of referring to the way of all men was coined by Shakespeare in Hamlet’s famous “To be or not to be” soliloquy. He used it when we were children to refer to death. He would leave me stumped as my fertile imagination tried picturing gigantic coils in the ether. I had no idea what he was talking about. He did it to protect us. Perhaps he felt we were too little to be talking about such things, but as we got older he would return to this favourite expression time and again.

Only in the final months of Alzheimer’s did he start to use more colloquial expressions such as ‘cark it’ or ‘kick the bucket.’

Had he forgotten about his firm favourite?

I expect so.

He had moments of his favourite expressions coming back into fashion, but they fluttered away more than they stayed.

Four months have passed since Dad left this mortal coil.

Sometimes it feels eternal. Sometimes I expect to see him sitting in his chair having a snooze. Sometimes I expect to hear him calling my name.

Every inch of the house speaks of him. Every corner, every piece of furniture, every colour scheme. He papered the walls in the landing. He painted each bedroom. Mum and Dad picked out the design for the kitchen, the bathrooms, the lounge, every last detail.

Now the walls, the kitchen, the bathrooms and everything in between need a facelift. I can’t bear to touch any of it. It feels like painting over the work of his hands.

Let’s face it, I am only four months in. I am in that strange period of adjustment where the mind plays tricks on me. There are moments I am ready to get on with my life. There are other moments when I am completely stuck in the mire.

Just as I was preparing to venture out into the world again, my accident happened. The Lord had different plans for me. He knows me too well. He knows my tendency to get up again and get on with it even when I’m hurting. I’m a coper. I always have been, but this time is different. This time I broke in different ways. As such, I have been very much at home facing the memories, breathing them in, day in, day out, sitting with them in the garden, walking along the landing with them, and tucking them into bed at night. There is no escape.

The Lord wants me to face the loss and heal.

That is what I must do.

1. It serves a purpose. Grief is necessary. We cannot bury our losses because they will come back with a larger bite later in life. Grief causes us to pause and take the time we need to lament the loss of our loved one(s).

2. Grief teaches us lessons we couldn’t have learned any other way. Grief causes us to face facets of ourselves we often choose to ignore. It holds up a mirror to our inner man or woman and forces us to take a look. This is a good thing.

3. Grief brings gratitude. Once past the horrible phases of shock, anger, guilt and all the negatives grief can bring, it is common to experience such gratitude for the time spent with that special person. I have found that this is the core of what remains.

4. Grief brings back good memories we thought were lost. After a certain period of wrangling with the hard bits, only the good memories remain. Much like how Abba Father throws our confessed sins into the sea of forgetfulness, there is a tendency to hold onto the good stuff and let go of the bad.

5. Grief teaches us to seize every moment of this precious thing called life. It calls us to love others deeply and to appreciate them while they or we are still here.

6. Grief points us to forgiveness. Quite frankly, life is too short to bear a grudge, and some people’s lives are snuffed out sooner than they should be.

Dad was my safe place. For most of my life, he represented strength, leadership, authority and wisdom. He modelled the Father’s love and protection towards me. Losing him has shaken me and placed me on wobbly feet. Maybe that is why I fell and broke in two? His passing from this mortal coil brought back the loss of Mum and Jez, but as I type this, I am flooded with gratitude.

You know my story. I was adopted into this family. I couldn’t imagine a better family to be raised in.

God doesn’t make mistakes.

To close, I want to share two of my favourite verses connected to grief. They offer comfort and hope when death pays a visit.

When all is said and done, Yeshua has the victory over death. If you are in Him, you have nothing to fear. The final judgment concludes with the last of his enemies receiving their comeuppance. Death and Hades are thrown into the lake of fire.

Grief is no more!

That’s it from me.

Drop me a line or a comment below. I would love to hear from you.

Sally