Crammed into my mother-in-law’s condo, our family created makeshift beds and regressed to sleeping partnerships we hadn’t utilized in decades. My son slept in the king-sized bed with my husband, my daughter on a couch on one side of the fireplace, and I claimed a day bed on the other side. My brother-in-law was somewhere in the basement and, the day before, at the hospital, Nano, my husband’s mother, had taken the last breath she’d ever take in her body. She passed away and went to heaven.
I don’t know exactly what that means. I don’t know how far away heaven might be, but I’m beginning to think it’s closer than we’ve been led to believe. I’m not very sure at all what heaven is. Is it even a noun? Then again, I’m no theologian. All I have is my experience. And faith. I do have faith. A little bit.
The day after Nano died, I woke up crying and I wondered if I’d ever stop. I have never cried with so much of me—never knew my body could produce so much moisture, or that my head had so much capacity for all of that. It would not stop. My family gathered around me and someone stroked my back and someone else handed me tissues and no one said anything at all. All we heard was the sound of my sobs and my brother-in-law making coffee in the kitchen. I cried like that for most of the day. In the restaurant where my son and I went in search of normal and breakfast, my mom called me on my cell phone and I had to give the phone to my son because I couldn’t get past the tears. “I’m so sorry,” my voice staccato-ed to my son. “I don’t mean to embarrass you.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” he answered.
Ten years before, after my husband’s father died, H had dreams where he and his father were together again. The presence of his father was so real, H felt as if he’d actually been with his father. While Nano was in the hospital bed, on her last day of life, I was driving down the highway, on my way to pick up some food for the family to eat, and I clearly felt her presence with me. It happened again after she died, on that morning I couldn’t stop crying. I stepped into the shower and I was reminded of some advice she’d given me, time and time again. It was the perfect advice I needed in the moment, and it sounded as if her voice was right there with me. And there was one more incident, where I sensed her giving me a message and telling me good-bye, for now.
Grief is powerful. I wonder if it makes us raw enough so that we’re like children once again—sensing heavenly exchanges that go unnoticed by adults with our grown-up schedules and agendas and theories about things. Like I said, I’m no theologian. All I have is my experience.
It’s a mystery.
I don’t know if you’ve had experiences like these, where death takes someone you deeply love and opens you up to the wonders of grief and the inexplicably and achingly painful journey of loss. It is a rough road and yet, God promises he’s with us, even then.
Years ago, right after I started blogging, I found a site called An Inch of Gray, written by my friend, Anna Whiston-Donaldson. Right away, I was attracted to Anna’s sense of style, her wit, and her deep love of her family. She posted beautiful DIY projects that I knew I could never replicate, and she made me laugh out loud at the most ordinary things. Her view on the world made me smile. One day, Anna’s son, Jack went out to play in the neighborhood and he never came home. I remember reading the words over and over again, hoping that, by reading them, I’d be able to turn back time and make Jack’s death unhappen. But it was real and it was not going away, and Anna let us into her grief and our grief mingled with hers and she has welcomed us on the journey along with her, her husband, and Jack’s sister, Margaret.
Today, Anna’s book, Rare Bird
releases to the world. It is the story of love and loss and grief and hope. If you’ve known grief, or know someone who’s going through loss, this book should be in your library. When I read it earlier this year, I was reminded of my experience of grief and how it leaves us open and how God steps in to remind us we are not alone. As Glennon Doyle Melton writes, Rare Bird is “A masterpiece of hope, love, and the resilience and ferocity of the human spirit.” And Mary C. Neal says, “Rare Bird is not just another well-written story of love, loss, and the aftermath of death, but it is a story that clearly shows the constant presence and grace of a loving God. It gives assurance and comfort to those whose hearts are grieving, and hope to those who are afraid.” Anna’s book is available for purchase, here.
I have a hard-cover copy of this book to give away. If you’re interested in receiving it, please leave a comment in the space below some time before Friday, and please let me know how you’d like to be notified if your name is chosen to receive the book.
Postscript: This morning, I went to the post office and dropped the hard copy of Rare Bird in the mail. The book will make its way to Kerrilee Agget. When I sent her a FB message, letting Kerrilee know the book would be coming her way, she messaged back that she was on her way to the funeral of a friend.
Grief is a powerful journey… My friend’s husband died suddenly …. Walking in these deep waters of grief makes one cling to the only One who can navigate these stormy waters… Thanks for the opportunity to win the book… Would love to read it to learn more how to walk better with those who grieve and also pass it on to my friend ~
Oh to embrace the mysteries of God and to acknowledge that He is with us – through out all of our days! We just lost a friend a couple of weeks ago and my heart breaks for so many who are grieving the loss of her. I would love to pass this book on to the family. If my name is chosen, you can email or fb me… or better yet, Vox me! <3 Love you so!
Almost daily, I am reminded of the variety of ways that people grieve–and for the various reasons. So often we associate grief with death, but just yesterday, I worked with a student who was grieving the loss of a significant relationship in her life. From the heaving sobs to just the small aches from time to time, there are so many expressions of loss. This sounds like a fabulous book!
Oh, I would love a copy of this book. I feel at a loss when it comes to grieving (no pun intended!) It’s a skill I’ve never learned or maybe haven’t wanted to learn but right now I’m faced with the need to grieve a number of new and old losses intermingled. If I win, you can let me know via facebook, we’re friends over there. Thanks, Deidra.
Oh, I can’t imagine the timing for this… a friend is grieving in ways I can’t comprehend… perhaps this book will bless her and help walk her where I can’t go… If I win, please let me know via email… thanks for sharing this opportunity, and your heart-felt experience with grief…
Excited to have my name thrown in the hat. If I win, you may notify by knocking on the door (book in hand, of course) ready for an afternoon at the cabin. Or any other way you like. This post resonated, as Jim’s mama passed May 30th.
Oh Deidra … there are no words for grief, are there. We try to somehow shape them but as eloquent as we may be, they can’t be captured fully. But in putting pen and ink to paper, a tiny bit of healing begins to emerge. Through the tears. Ever so slowly …
[email protected]
Grief.
Such a little word for such a large, overwhelming, shattering thing. One syllable only for this wretched thing. My dear sweet Mom passed at the end of April, not quite five months ago and I have struggled with how to deal with my grief. A few tears spill over during daylight hours but mostly, I cry in my dreams. I stubble sobbing through dreamscapes calling out “Where is my mother?” When I can’t find her I began to rage in my dream, screaming, fighting and falling exhausted on the ground only to shatter into sharp pieces like broken glass. I always remember the dreams when I wake. Always. I wake up shattered. Always.
Has it brought me closer to God? I don’t know. I don’t think so. What this grief has done is brought me closer to His people, closer to the brokenhearted because I really now am brokenhearted. Shattered. I think – I’m not sure – this grief is transforming my faith somehow. I don’t completely understand it but I can feel it’s doing something. It is as you say, a mystery.
As a Christian, I believe as the scriptures say that when we are “absent from the body we are present with the Lord.” To me, that is heaven. Being in the actual presence of the Lord. My Mom is there. That is something I know for sure. She is present with the Lord. She is in heaven. This is the comfort I have and it makes the shattering barely bearable. This is all the theology I can process at the moment.
As always, I thank God for you Deidra. You are a gift to the Body of Christ.
Hugs.
Cassandra from Renaissance Women
I’m sorry – I forgot to leave how to contact me for the drawing. My email is revive.renew.rejoice (at) gmail.com or you can find me at Renaissance Women http://renaissance-ministries.blogspot.com
They say death comes in threes, but around these parts it just keeps coming. Cancer, heart attacks, gunshots, disease. And with it comes that mystery, that wondering, the grief, the wandering alone, with God; the wondering why, and the wondering at the marvelous works of God, the beauty of grace and the promise of heaven in the face of death. Sometimes we even find ourselves grieving the loss of self, our former selves, our abilities, our personalities, our familiarity, our hopes, our dreams. And He meets us there in the middle of grief. Even touches us with knowingly familiar reassurance. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” 2 Corinthians 4:16
I, too, have been marked by grief and search for ways to express it…I actually wrote a brief post about observing grief through a journaling technique called an alpha poem…If I am chosen for the book send me an email at [email protected]…thanks for sharing your experience here…blessings-Kel
This takes me right back to the hospice house where I tried to blog through my grief. And when I was alone in the car, I’d turn up Shaun Groves’ Third World Symphony full blast and just sob. I don’t know why that particular album except my emotions were so raw and I could focus on others in pain and remember that all is grace. We’ve lost my FIL, my MIL, and my mom–and had some close calls with my dad who’s still kicking at 87. I’m so aware of how fragile life is–and how close any of us are to finding out how close heaven is. And now I’m crying again.
You know where to find me. Love you big.
Your comments reminded me of my Nana. I’ve had dreams of her like those you described. We’re doing things together, and in the dream I’m thinking, this is a dream, but she’s there, and it’s so real. I hated waking up from those dreams. I’m not commenting to win the book. Hopefully someone who can really benefit from it will win. Just wanted to say thanks for sharing.
Grief….it is so different…so personal! I would love to win the book and be notified by email….though an in person notification would be great. I would quickly whip up some dessert and coffee!
Just fyi….the links for the book did not work for me! Not sure if others are having that problem!
Thanks, Karen! I fixed them. 🙂
Grief: Does it ever go away? I mean really go away? I have not lost a child in the way that this precious woman has (I’m not sure how she has, but obviously she had nothing to do with the horrific loss of her son which she has suffered). I’ve lost a child, too, but as an accomplice to the crime of abortion (and one can’t grieve that in the same way–or at least not openly; and sometimes people have trouble identifying with a loss which one has helped to cause–but it is losing a child, nonetheless, and this, too, causes horrendous grief). And there have been other losses of dear loved ones, like your precious Nano…….and then, Daddy, seven years ago. I still can’t bear to fully think of him–to let my emotions flow unguarded, uncontained. I cried and sobbed like you, and then early on, something happened. I froze over. I can’t explain it (and I am still afraid to explore it for fear I would never rise from grief), but once, not long after his passing, I read this poem by Emily Dickinson, and I understood the numbness a little better.
*********
After great pain a formal feeling comes–
The nerves sit ceremonious like
tombs;
The stiff Heart questions–was it He that bore?
And yesterday–or
centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round
A wooden way
Of ground, or air, or
ought,
Regardless grown,
A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons
recollect the snow–
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.
********
Maybe I”m afraid to think about his death, because I think I will have let him go–in the sense of letting his memory go. I’m not sure.
But I do believe in the Lord with all my heart. I do believe that He keeps His promises, and that if He says heaven is real, then it is. And so I do believe that Daddy (and others I’ve loved) are with Him. But I don’t pretend to understand how (in what way) or how thick or thin that veil is that separates us (be it diaphanous or durable).
I do not believe that my father has a body or that he is singing with Jesus, or walking with Him, or eating with Him or kibbitzing with his friends (the kinds of things that we hear are taking place in heaven now). But I believe that he is with Jesus in a real way, and that he is perfectly content and joyous. And I believe in the new heavens and the new earth and that my father (and others I’ve loved) will rise from their graves with glorified bodies that will never die, and that their souls will be united with their bodies, and that they will live physically with Jesus forever.
Though I dont’ think my grief will ever go away in this life, I believe that God will wipe away every tear and that one day I, too, will be united with those I love in the new earth, when it will be completely restored (just like those who live in it and dwell with God) and that the veil will be forever removed. I don’t know if this post makes much sense, likely because I just don’t understand such deep mysteries in my finiteness; I find this all impossibly difficult to articulate.
And despite that I don’t think that my grief will ever fully end, neither will my joy in having loved such endearing people, and in knowing that God never leaves us (in life or death or resurrected life), and that He gives us grace to live our days, clinging to Him and to His truths, and His promised for a perfect, never-ending future.
Blessings to you, Deidra. . . . a beautiful post, and I look forward to meeting Nano someday (and you will love my father)!
LYnn
(book notification if that happens to [email protected])
I would love a copy. Suicide & domestic violence (murder) has taken many in our family. The grief of a life cut short is hard to bear at times but knowing God somehow pieces it together gives hope. You can email me if I win a book. Thank you.
Sandie, thank you so much for this piece of your story. I’m so sorry for your loss. What a tough journey that must be. Thank you for this reminder of hope. Peace to you.
Just this week I was thinking about you and THC retreat. I have a story about loss, humor, and encouragement from heaven to share in the 5 minute time.
I remember when your sweet mother-in-law went to the Lord and how much you hurt. The message and encouragement you received seems very apropos for all you have shared about her.
If I win, I want you to call me. I haven’t heard your voice in too long and I’m missing you.
I can’t wait to see you in November. And hear you tell your story. And also? I just voxed you, so you can hear my voice. 🙂
I’m four years into grieving the death of my husband of 50 years. Reading today’s article was comforting. I thought of how often I’ve called my husband a “rare bird.” If I win a book, e-mail would be a fine way to contact me.
Keep up the good work.
Mrs. Hays! It’s so hard to believe Mr. Hays has been gone four years. I know how much you two loved each other. I remember how warmly you both welcomed us into your family and taught my parents about the power of the Holy Spirit and the gift of grace. So, in some respects, my work is an extension of your work. You and Mr. Hays together. And I am grateful to God for you both.
I would love to have a copy of this book. Grief and I seem to be constant traveling companions. Out of eight pregnancies, we’ve raised four children. Just a little over two years into our marriage, we buried my father-in-law. On 9 December 2012, we said good-bye to my daddy. I was a thousand miles away with my husband in the hospital and who had almost died himself. He had gangrene and lost part of his foot. 1993 will forever be the most personally heartbreaking year of my life, burying my grandma and three months later our baby girl Dorian. Over the last thirty years, we’ve said good-bye to so many loved ones…our fathers, our babies, our grandparents, the children of friends.
My birthday this year brought an answered prayer and joy, but along with it the reopening of an old wound. A long lost cousin wrote to me, finding me through a memorial that I made to his father, my uncle. He has now reunited via Skype with his American siblings. With the finding of this cousin came also the asking and answering of long-unanswered questions. He was an Army baby born in Germany and, though he knew his father had died, he had no idea what had truly happened to his father. In August 1977, my uncle and his wife were brutally murdered. The hard questions were asked of me and I explained to him what had happened to his father. I never knew so much emotion was buried so deeply about the brutal loss of my uncle and aunt. I felt so silly crying about this when it was so very long ago, but it hurts. It still hurts and it always will. I’m still looking for answers to the “why” questions and how to help us all process now what we were too little to process at the time. With so many of the involved parties no longer with us, it sometimes seems like the answers will stay buried with my aunt and uncle forever and that not knowing is unbearable.
I’ve never truly learned how to process grief and to let it go. Maybe something in this book will help. If I am the chosen person, I would like to be contacted via e-mail at [email protected] I’m getting old and forgetful, so my name and something about the book giveaway in the subject line would be really helpful to me.
May Our Father bless you and yours always!
Suzanne, your story touches me deeply.
The other morning, I was listening to a devotional (on the app, Pray As You Go) and the devotional was about the Beatitudes. The teacher said some of the Beatitudes sound attractive, while others make us want to turn and run away from them. That day, for me, I wanted to turn and run away from the Beatitudes that say, “blessed are they that mourn,” and “blessed are the poor in spirit.”
But the teacher went on to encourage me to invite God to reveal himself in the Beatitudes I’d rather not face. And, so I did (of course it wasn’t as easy as I just wrote it right there).
Who would ever believe there is something to be said for suffering? I don’t wish it on anyone. I don’t. But I am praying you sense the comfort and grace of the Holy Spirit as you carry these burdens of grief. And I pray people will come into your life who make real to you the presence of Christ himself.
Diedra,
Thank you for your kind response to me. Please forgive me for a year-long delay in thanking you. My forgetfulness is getting worse. There have been so many changes in my life over the last year that I can’t focus even long enough to remember that I commented on a particular blog. Thank you for everything.
Have a blessed weekend!
Your sis in Christ,
Suz
I have been walking this grief journey with my daughter since the death of her husband a little over a year ago. It is a difficult one – filled with unexpected twists and turns. She is walking where I haven’t yet been, and we are learning together the story of grieving.
This is so beautifully said, Deidra. My Mom tells me that when my grandmother died (I was only two and don’t really remember), I came out of her room and told my Mom I had just talked with Grandma. “She was in her rocking chair,” I said, “and she just talked to me.”
Linda, I think of you and your daughter a lot. Wondering how you’re doing on your journey. Somehow, it can feel so isolated—that road through the valley of death. But, there are many of us on it. Many of us trying to find our footing on the rocky road beneath our feet. I’ll keep praying, and let’s keep walking through.
That story about you and your grandmother is incredible. There are stories like that in Anna’s book. Isn’t it something?
i have been out of the loop the last three weeks since I had Knee Replacement Surgery,…finally feel my brain clearing. One thing I learned is that when your defenses are down, and you are vulnerable, sometimes you go places you hadn’t gone yet. the last of my family of origin died with my dad this spring. I have lost my mom and three siblings – while i was aware that I was the only one left, during this time i grieved the loss of “all of them and only me left” at a much deeper real level. Learning that it’s ok to have a hole no other human can fill. and Yes, Jesus is there, and there is still a “hole.” It is what it is. And i have shed a lot of tears these last couple weeks about this. and it has been hard and it has been good. [email protected]
Carol, I noticed something about your comment that I think applies to this conversation. You called your surgery Knee Replacement Surgery, capitalizing each first letter—giving it a name, so to speak. I believe that happens with grief, too. People who bear it, refer to it with a capital G. Grief. Our relationship to it changes when we encounter it face to face. And yes. There is still a hole.
I grieve with you in the loss of your family members. So many thoughts come to the surface when we lose the people who got us here in the first place. Praying for your journey through this valley, that you’ll see the sunshine peeking through the leaves of the trees overhead.
Hi Deidra. This is so beautifully said. Your honourable mention of ‘Rare Bird’ comes at just the right moment. My dearest friend is suffering through the cycles of grief after losing her precious 32-year-old daughter in May. I’ve been wanting to help in some more tangible way, and maybe this book would be part of the means. If I should happen to ‘win’ this book, you could just email me.
Thank you for this today, Deidra. My heart goes out to Anna.
I’m so sorry, Jillie. My mother-in-law lost a son, too. Everyone says it, and it’s true—a parent is not supposed to bury a child. I’ll be praying for you as you walk through this hard season with your friend.
This book seems great. I found myself now in my late twenties, repeating the grief cycle of my mothers death ( she was killed when I was 8) during the milestones of my life. I graduated from college in 2012 and got married in May of the next year. No one knew how it felt to be a bride without a mother to help you pick things out, especially your wedding dress. I found myself standinga alone in my wedding dress because “friends” did not show up in Davids Bridal. My husband had to see me in my wedding dress because he did not want me to stand their alone. ( I ended up getting a bridesmaid dress because it was just too overwhelming) I had pastors that tried to have an intervention with me ( the week before my wedding) because I was sad that she was not there and I did not have anyone besides my husband to help me throughout the process. Their answer to my problems was to give me books about rejection and told me to get over it and it happened along time ago!!! I ended up seeing a therapist who told me everything I was feeling as normal and I’m going to have those sad moments during the “first things” first college graduation, first ( and last) time getting married, when I have my first child I know I will feel it then. But through Gods help and my husbands support I find myself healing more everyday and try to stay positive. Hope it wasn’t too much information, but I find myself making myself talk about the uneasy portions to help the next person along and it makes it easier for me to deal with. Tari. 🙂
I think that those people were so unkind to tell you to get over it because it was long ago. The time doesn’t matter…it was a moment in time that ripped out your heart and that hurt will always be there in some form. It is hard enough when we lose our loved ones in a health-related way, but to have them taken from us as the victim of a crime, how do we cope with that? We aren’t supposed to “get over” these things. We somehow find a way to get through them, but never over them. Some people just don’t understand how long a deep hurt can linger because they’ve never been through such a hurt.
I am also sorry that your mama wasn’t there with you to choose your wedding dress. Losing a parent so young as you did has to be so very hard. You’re in my prayers as you walk this road of grief of what should have been but isn’t. I know your mama must be very proud seeing from Heaven the fine woman you’ve grown into. {{{Hugs}}}
Your sis in Christ,
Suz
thank you so much Suzanne. Hugging Back. Tari.
You can never share too much information around here, Tari. Thank you so much for sharing this with us. With me. I am so sorry for all the firsts you and your mom won’t get to experience together. And I’m sorry for the words and advice that missed the mark. I’m glad you found a counselor who could empathize with your story, and a husband who stands strongly by your side.
I’m so grateful to you for what you’ve shared here. Bless you, Tari.
Thank You Deidra. 🙂
8 years ago, my friend and college roommate was killed by her fiancee. The grief is still raw, and I do believe God works through it to teach and mold us. I would love to have a copy of this book!
Oh my, Marcie. I am so sorry for your loss. It must still feel so present, I imagine.
There have been some really good words written and spoken over the past week or so, in the wake of the news about Ray Rice and his then-fiancee. I really appreciate what Vice President Joe Biden had to say: “It’s never, never, never the woman’s fault. No man has a right to raise a hand to a woman. No means no. […] The one regret I have is we call it domestic violence as if it’s a domesticated cat. It is the most vicious form of violence there is, because not only the physical scars are left, the psychological scars that are left. This whole culture for so long has put the onus on the woman. What were you wearing? What did you say? What did you do to provoke? That is never the appropriate question.”
Praying for peace for you and for the family of your roommate and her fiancee.
Mention of this book is appearing so often on my screen that I feel maybe the Lord is trying to tell me something .. I too, have held grief as a constant companion for years upon years, even in pre-grieving stages before my mom died of cancer.
For those who are also well acquainted with grief, I pray that this post is an encouragement to you:
http://katemotaung.com/2013/07/13/a-open-letter-to-grief/
And if I win the book, Deidra, you can contact me on Twitter, Facebook or e-mail.
Thank you for sharing this glimpse into your story, and for hosting this giveaway. May this book be more than a sliver of hope to many.
Kate, thank you for that link. I believe your words paint the picture well. It’s not something that passes, or that we get over. I think it becomes a new part of us, you know? Thank you.
Just reading these comments made me sad and long for the day when God will wipe all the tears from our eyes. If I win, you can reach me at [email protected]
It’s such a gift, knowing these brave ones would share their grief here, in this space.
Grief is something that I am very familure with. A long time it was anger that came wth my grief, but lately, I found that my anger had dissipated, and I had been left with a different kind of feeling–I just can’t describe it. But its no longer anger, and no longer raw grief. I do hope that the Lord comforts others as their grieve for their loss ones (and the senseless loss of life world wide).
You know, my husband always says anger is a cover up emotion. Usually, there’s something beneath the anger that’s the root of what’s going on in us, causing us to feel angry. So, I’m encouraged to hear your anger seems to have dissipated. Not that there’s anything wrong with anger. I think anger is healthy and necessary. But, when it seems to soften, I believe God is gently peeling back the layer so he can place his hand on what’s really going on. So, my prayer is that you’d feel his comfort and his gentle way with you, and that you’d let him have his way. Grace to you, Kalley.
Thank you. In regards to my father, we knew he was leaving us. We saw it daily with the cancer that made him weak everyday.
My anger was not with my father having to pass, but the lack of dignity that he wanted that was never given to him. All he wanted was a bed to die in, and on his death bed he fought red tape all the way.
My anger had to do with people in a office treating him like a number and not like a human who was suffering.
I pray that no one has to see their loved ones being treated that way especially while they lie dying.
The gift that I had received from my father’s passing was the gift of forgiveness. I learned to forgive the people who are in that profession and I learned to pray for them. They had seen / heard suffering everyday that they could have hardened their hearts. I don’t know, but I pray for them.
I was reminded that when our Lord was crucified, He was stripped while suffering. I was about our Lord’s grace.
My father spoke no ill words, and forgved them himself–even while dying. Even though he didn’t die with the dignity he wanted, he died with love in his heart, forgiveness on his tounge and surrounded by those who loved him.
What a blessing to have experienced this kind of love. I’ve only had this type of relationship with my mother and she lives 2,000 miles away. I appreciate your courage to discuss the overwhelm and mystery of grief.
I’d like to receive your hard copy of Rare Bird because grief is my constant companion. I my son is 12 years old and has autism. He’s wonderful, a gift…and I grieve the son I expected. The one that would have sleepovers, ball games, crushes on girls and dreams of college. I live with joy and sadness co-mingled. I haven’t lost my son’s physical presence, I’ve gained odd behavior, special ed conferences and an uncertain future.
Thank you for your honesty and grace.
Rose, thank you for sharing your story. Your son sounds beautiful. I pray God’s blessings on this journey of yours. It’s always so difficult to find out the road we’re traveling isn’t the one we anticipated.
I know me. I get all prepared for the trip, thinking it’s going to go a certain way and then, when I actually get in the thick of things, I realize I don’t have the equipment I need for the road I’m on.
I pray you realize abundant resources of friendships and medical professionals and laughter and tears of joy, mingled in there with the grief. I pray God surrounds you with a healthy community of faith that knows what it means to bear one another’s burdens. Blessings to you, my friend.
“the wonders of grief and the inexplicably and achingly painful journey of loss.” Only five days after saying goodbye to my mom, I’m in the middle of this journey right now, and it truly is so full of wonder . . both good and bad. The overwhelming love of family and friends, the comfort of memories, the inescapable depth and power of grief, the nearness of God and Heaven. The morning after Mom died my husband Jeff and I were laying in bed and praying. Jeff was overwhelmed by her presence (and he’s NOT a touchy, feely guy). He said it felt like she was right there. Such a mystery. Salvation, the Gospel, and Heaven have never meant more or been more tangible than they have in the last week. What wonder!
Today grief and loss hit home again. I have experienced the loss of people I love and have learned to live without. I read your post today, seemed like irony as I was given the news that my great aunt had passed away this morning, and realized that there is no irony in God.
Yes grief is hard… I would love to give this book to a dear friend of mine who lost a son to a fiery car fire.just last year .. she would be blessed as she works through this loss… slowly.
I will purchase one if I don’t win.
Greif is hard, I just lost my son and sometimes its even hard for me to breathe , I am at a loss as to what I should do now, I m afraid , hurt lonley, and scared all at once , my name is Darla Underwood I live at 716 Plaisance ave in rockford ,Ill 61102 ,I dont know what I am but Scotts momma