Good Grief

Have you ever sojourned through a season where loss seems to be the anthem of your cadence? This has been my path these last few weeks.  And while I have not lost anyone in my closest embrace, I have of late witnessed those I love and many more I know by acquaintance suffer great losses: the expected, yet still piercing deaths of old saints, the bittersweet relief of death after the carnage of cancer, even harrowing unexpected deaths of young fathers, of children.

I have heard it said that death comes in threes.  Perhaps it’s more likely that when we suffer loss, we become more aware of those around us who are grieving, and wrap their loss into our own sorrow, until loss and grief seem as much a part of our day as the laundry that needs folding or the phone that keeps ringing.  This has been one of those seasons.

People often refer to the time surrounding the loss of a loved one as a fog.  A cloud of malaise settles around us, and although our feet are moving forward, the details of the scenery and the direction remain unclear.  Yet, paradoxically, in grief certain things become palpable.  The gravity of death causes the frivolous details to disapate  into the background, and those things that are left standing in the face of utter grief are reborn with greater value:

The laughter of my children.

The opportunity to stop nitpicking, and instead nuzzle into the crook of my husband’s neck.

The constancy and faithfulness of Scripture.

The sweet and silly stories from my mother’s childhood. And her mother’s. And her mother’s mother’s.

The gift of warm sunshine on a crisp fall afternoon.

The promise of a love that conquers death, and life beyond the grave.