Faithful Paradox

I thought I knew a lot about grief and grieving. I am an empath; I feel things deeply. We have been in full time ministry for more than two decades and have walked with countless people through pain, suffering, loss, divorce, and sickness. There is little that we have not encountered with others. Before we lost Ezra, I think I assumed that I understood and knew grief.

It’s not out of a sense of arrogance or pride, but rather, because of the work we have been a part of, suffering and the broken human condition was simply part of the job. We have also faced our fair share of pain; unrelenting anxiety, a catastrophic pediatric seizure disorder for one of our boys, financial ruin. There has been pain; not necessarily more pain than others, but we have not been shielded from the sorrows and sufferings of this world.

With this in mind, I thought I had a pretty good grasp on grief; I thought I knew a lot more than I did. Having walked this road of loss now for more than 2 years, I think I am realizing that I really did not know as much as I thought. I am realizing I simply did not understand; even though I thought I did.

There is absolutely the reality that until you walk a particular road, you simply do not know or understand. Coupled with that is the reality that everyone’s grief experience is different.

With these things in mind, I wanted to share 10 things that I thought I knew about grief and loss that are actually quite different than I realized.

1. Grief takes a lot longer than I realized

I knew that grief was hard. I knew that people who lost loved ones felt the loss acutely for years. I understood that aspect. I knew that specific dates or memories brought a greater sense of loss. I had heard the first year was the hardest, so I was one who would reach out to many people after the first year and say something (with the best intentions), “It’s so good you’ve made it through all the firsts.” I think I had this false idea that once someone made it through all the firsts, after that it got easier.

I was so wrong about this. I got a lot of calls and texts from people expressing the same sentiment at the 1 year mark of losing Ezra; “it’s so good you’re through all the firsts.” I wanted to scream when I heard this.

The reality is, there is no sense of peace, accomplishment or comfort having made it through a year. It is simply a bitter reminder of how far you have left to go. The healing process is long, arduous and painful. It’s made even more complex when there is a family system involved. Still this week, one of my sons went to bed in tears, missing Ezra. It’s hard and painful and takes a really long time.

I did not realize how long it takes to walk the road of grief and that as you walk, it’s not that it gets easier. You simply get used to carrying the load. You get stronger.

2. Grief takes courage; not necessarily strength

I was talking with a woman who was recently widowed this past week and she commented that there are so many people who express how strong she is; she shows up and keeps going. I expressed to her that I am not sure if she’s strong or not, but I do know she is courageous.

I wrote about the silent courage of grief not too long ago. The truth is that life marches on in cruelty and there is a painful reality that you just have to show up and keep moving. I’m not sure that it is a reflection of strength, necessarily. I am certain that it is reflection of courage. It takes so much courage to keep going; to show up over and over when all you really want to do is hide away, hoping the pain will stop. It takes so much energy to keep moving forward, one painful step at a time.

I did not realize how much courage it takes to show up over and over again.

3. Grief has triggers everywhere

While the dates that have specific memories are hard, the truth is that there are triggers everywhere. I made a meal last night that Ezra would have loved (he so appreciated food). My heart ached just a little as I was reminded for the thousandth time that he was not there to eat with us.

We went for a drive this week to look at Christmas lights. As we drove, I was reminded of a house we’d often go see that has a light show. We would get hot chocolate for the boys and make a night of it. My heart broke just a little, remembering a van full of 5 boys.

Then we drove past a convenience store that we stopped at one day after paddle boarding as a family. I remember Ezra running into the store to get drinks for everyone. My heart broke just a little.

It’s exhausting because you never know what is going to hit you and where it’s going to come from. That was just a 2 hour snapshot of time yet the reality is that it is all day, every day. And it’s exhausting.I had no idea that driving past a service station would evoke grief in my heart. It caught me off guard. I’ve driven past it so many times and yet for some reason it hit me. It’s exhausting because there are hundreds of those little things that come out of the blue every week and not only are you navigating the pain and grief of choosing courage to show up, but on top of that, you’re also navigating the unexpected terms that come on the journey.

I did not realize how exhausting this road was until I walked it.

4. Grief is incredibly lonely

Because of the daily, sometimes hourly triggers, because of the silent courage it requires to simply put one foot in front of the other, the road of grief can feel incredibly lonely. No one knows that the convenience store you just drove past shot a barb of pain into your heart and you’re left navigating that internally. No one knows the exhaustion you feel as you choose courage once again. No one knows the grief you endure; at least not intimately. The road of loss and grief can feel incredibly lonely because only you know and experience all the pain and triggers. There is a very real sense that you simply cannot invite people into every moment of pain; it really is not even possible. So you simply endure silently.

I had heard that the road of grief can feel so lonely, but I never really understood how lonely it actually is.

5. Grief may cause people to hurt you in their pain

I did not understand quite so deeply that when you are suffering, others hurt with you. In my own pain, I did not have the stamina to walk with or even show much compassion to others as they experienced pain as well.

I was hurt often by other people. What I missed was that others were hurting too. In the grief of others, there are expectations of how they want to be cared for and seen from you. In your own pain, you do not have the bandwidth to meet those expectations. Often others respond in hurt to unmet expectations. People hurt you because they have expectations of where they think they should be seated at your own table of grief and when you don’t meet their expectation, their response is one of pain.

Vince and I have navigated grief so differently and much of the pain I have experienced from him is simply unmet expectations. I have been hurt many times because I had hoped he would respond in a certain way to me in my grief. When he didn’t respond in a way that I was hoping or needing, it was painful.

People hurt you unintentionally when they say things that are intended for care and comfort, but they actually strike a painful cord; like all the years I tried to encourage people that they had made it through the first year. I didn’t realize that that could be a word of pain spoken rather than encouragement.

When you are in the midst of pain and suffering, emotions are raw, feelings are fragile and it is easier to feel pain, as it is stacked on top of the pain you are already carrying. I did not realize, however, that with true grief and suffering comes more pain in that you are often hurt by people.

6. Grief may lead you to hurt people in your pain

I hurt people in my pain. When grief was heaviest, I felt angry a lot. I recognize that often, anger is a cover emotion. Anger is the only emotion that we have that is strong enough to drive us. My anger was a cover for the deep pain that I was feeling. I directed that anger at people because at least if I was angry, I wasn’t hurting as much. My view was pointed outwards rather than on my own suffering. I hurt people in the way that I responded to them in my own pain and anger. I hurt people in the way that I did not meet hopes and expectations of how I would fold them into my own grief. I have hurt Vince, as I have asked him to carry the weight of grief that he does not have the strength or stamina to carry. I have hurt people and this is a piece of grief that I did not understand or anticipate.

7. Grief will leave you feeling misunderstood… a lot

I have felt misunderstood in my grief… a lot. People are often quick to assume that because you show up, because you make an effort to integrate back into life as normal, you are doing okay; maybe even well. People assume that your pain is not as hard as it is. People assume that you have traveled further down the road of grief than you have. People assume that because you are smiling, you are strong or happy. As I said, people assume that because you made it through the first year, the rest of the years are easier or smoother sailing. People assume that once you get far enough down the road of grief, the “old you” will resurface and you will get back to simply being yourself. The reality is, however, that there are pieces of grief that change you; and those old pieces of yourself may never return. People assume a lot in grief and there is a lot of time that you simply must get comfortable with being misunderstood. It’s a hard tension to navigate; wanting to be understood in your pain, and yet also knowing that unless someone has walked a similar road, there is no way for them to understand. It’s hard. It’s a piece I did not know about grief. It’s a piece I thought I knew and realize now how very wrong I was.

8. Grief for your family/spouse will likely look different and this is hard

I recently read a book where the husband and wife seemed to grieve in very similar ways. They wept together and the author spoke of how their grief unified them in their pain. There was a piece of my heart that thought, “wow, that must be nice.”

For Vince and me, grieving has been really, really hard. I have written previously that the way he and I grieve actually seems to be in conflict with the other; the two forms of grief cannot actually coexist, so we have had to learn how to meet the other in our grief. It’s been painful. It’s required a lot of communication, a lot of struggle, a lot of misunderstanding, a lot of setting aside needs and desires. In many ways, it has felt like an added layer of grief because the struggle to meet the other in our pain has been extremely hard and exhausting.

I think I knew that grief was different for each person; but I did not understand it. Now I understand deeply that grief is different and that difference is hard.

9. Grief changes you

I had heard that grief changes you; but I did not understand. There are pieces of me that are simply different. I used to have a very high capacity. I no longer have hardly any capacity. I used to feel my mind was sharp; now I struggle for words. I used to have an acute mind for details; now I forget many things. These things are hard for me.

Vince has also changed a lot in his grief. In many ways, we have had to learn what it is to be married all over again because when we came back together, we were different people. The ways we communicated for 25 years no longer worked. The ways we felt loved and seen in relationship for 25 years no longer worked. We are having to re-learn one another and while we both know in the long run this will be good and beautiful, when you are in the midst of trying to navigate and survive grief, this feels like an added weight to carry; it feels like more grief.

There is a very real part of grief that it changes you; forever. I could certainly insert the analogy of a caterpillar transforming into a beautiful butterfly here; speaking of how there is beauty that comes from the change. I could speak of how the butterfly will never again be the caterpillar; it is an altogether different creature. And while these analogies may apply, the understanding that is lost is that all this change feels like more grief. When you are not yet seeing the beautiful butterfly escape the darkness of the cocoon, you simply feel trapped by the cocoon. It’s dark and suffocating. It’s painful when the ways in which you saw the world, learned to function in the world; the ways in which you engaged with people, learned to navigate relationships – it all changed and it’s painful. It feels like another layer of grief because everything feels different.

I knew that grief changed people; I had heard of it. I did not understand, however, what that meant and how it can add more pain and confusion.

10. Grief may keep you from experiencing the present day comfort that the future promises

I have mentioned this in many posts, but I am learning that the future hope that we have in Christ does not necessarily bring comfort today. It doesn’t cause my heart to ache any less. It doesn’t lift the sadness I carry. It doesn’t lift the grief of my other children. It doesn’t cause the change of relationship between Vince and me to lessen or be any easier. It doesn’t make me feel any more understood.

I have a sure and future hope in Christ. I am sure of it. And yet it doesn’t necessarily bring comfort today. It doesn’t lift the day to day realities of enduring pain.

I misunderstood this. I think I thought in many ways that a future hope some how lightened today. And while there is hope, there is not always relief for today.