Anger

Anger is very much a part of grief. It is often displayed more than its two roots: pain & fear. It often is the hard armor we reveal when life has turned upside down. We feel frustrated, irritated, mad at the world and everyone in it. It is natural. But we must be brave and dig past the anger to find what is the root. What fear or hurt is really under all the anger? Then we need to give a voice to it. It takes hard work to dig. And our pride often wants to deny the fear and to protect where we are wounded. But it is important to dig.
Anger can be very destructive. It often gets poured out on others or is poured out silently on ourselves. Neither one focuses on the real issue. We can get stuck in grief anger. Holding on to our anger like it will keep us connected to our loved one. It won't. It just prolongs healing. So the healthy thing is to dig. Try to give a voice to the anger. Listen for fear or pain. Then that is what needs to be truly expressed. Some people need to talk it out, some like me write, other might need to exercise, do a sport, go hiking, and in the process grief anger's mask falls off and the real issues can be dealt with.
Grief is messy & disruptive. It pingpong through many emotions: fear, pain, anger seem to be the big three for me. But others regret is huge or guilt. You won't deal with these once and be done.  You will bounce back to emotions and peel another layer back each time. But do NOT lose hope.
God spoke to me years ago in Psalm ? That He heals the broken in heart and binds up their wounds. "You won't always hurt like this." I needed that hope when the pain overwhelmed and I could barely breathe.
There is hope. And there is healing. And even when clouds of anger overshadow my home, there is hope. And no matter how many times I or my sons clench our fists in anger. Every time we open it again Jesus is right there to take our hand & lead us one more step further on this jouney to healing. 

Denial

As I have been looking through pictures in preparation for my oldest son's grad party, I have come across many bittersweet images. One in particular caught my eye. 

There was two little boys standing by a wooden cross. The older of the two is tracing the letters of his father's name. Resting against the base of the cross is sign that reads "My Honey, Our Daddy." This sign was an important step for us. For weeks after Jim's death Snipp stopped using the word, Daddy. He refered to his dad as "Jim" or simply used pronouns "he" and "him". This really began to bother me. Finally I asked Snipp why he was referring to his dad by his name. His smart 5 year old answer was that that is what everyone else called him. True, but I explained Jim was his daddy which is special and that is why Snipp had always called him Daddy before. Then with a deep sadness he whispered, "I wish it was someone else's daddy that died." Oh, how my mama's heart broke for my son. 

I shared with Snipp how it was hard for me that it was my honey who was gone too. But how we need to not pretend, and how we were going to do a project. We made a sign. "My Honey, Our Daddy". It was a reality sign. We didn't like it, but the denial needed to stop so we could heal. 

It was a long walk to the cemetery with Snipp slowly pulling the sign in his wagon. But the boys and I arrived and we placed it at the bottom of the cross. 

It was a solemn time. I then told Snipp that Jim would always be his daddy and I expected him to refer to him as such from now on. And Snipp did. 

Oh, it could have been so much easier to stay in denial and allow my son not use the word Daddy to try to escape the pain. But healing needed to begin. Grief needed worked through. And it is so honoring to our loved ones when we say their name or call them what they were to us. 

I share all this to encourage you do a check, dear reader. Are you using only pronouns? It might seem like a simple thing, but make yourself say their name. It can be difficult, but it is one small way to honor your loved one and it also leads to babysteps of healing.

Fog

This is so true. 

In the last few weeks, I lost my brain somewhere. Today I forgot my toast in the toaster. I finally remembered it and popped it down again. Then I forgot it... again. That's a little thing, but there has been countless other things. And I feel silly and feel like I am losing my mind. But I know what is going in. Grieving is hard work and my brain is overwhelmed.

And just like with the waves of pain, this fogginess will roll in and then clear after awhile. And then return unannounced.

In Isaiah 42:16 the LORD says "And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them."

And so even in this fog, when I reach out, the Lord is right by my side. And HE silently takes my hand and tenderly leads me.

Grief Tsunami

I have been hit by a grief tsunami. My nana has gone to heaven. I miss her so much it hurts! I miss her hugs, her listening ear, her godly wisdom, and her prayers. 

At the graveside, I look at her faithful husband and grief touches grief, the heart feels slashed and blood from new wounds mingle with old ones. Sacred scars are toren gastly wide open and my heart screams silently once again. The familiar hollow feeling in my chest engulfs me in searing pain and I can't breathe.  

The wind feels like it is whistling right through me and try as I might, I can't stop the backflashes. Images of twisted and toren metal reflected my heart ripped in half and shattering into billions of pieces. And I can't breathe.

Feeling like I am going to vomit, I briskly walk away from family. I want to run, but the pain is trapped within. I walk till I feel like I am at the ends of the earth. Everything within is ready to collapse to the ground and let the grief wail escape my chest. I beg the Lord to keep me standing, to keep me silent. I shake like I am in a chilling rainstorm, but it is only tearsdrops that flow steadily down my cheeks. And I. Can't. Breathe.

Time stops. Pain blinds the mind and turns the body to stone. Must force myself to breathe. In....out.....in...out. I hear footsteps. A son puts an arm around me. Another proclaims, "You are really rattled. This all taking you back?" There is no words to describe how grief bleeds and mingles together, so I agree. They walk away and emptiness swirls around me again. Time is frozen. For eternity, I stand and feel like I am cold and dying.

Finally I turn around and walk back. Others approach to give hugs. I wave them away. I can't breathe. One hug, just one and they will need an ambulance... or a hearse. My heart pounds in my hollow chest. They are waiting for me. To speak. To get in the vehicle. Yet... I must go say goodbye. I silently and roboticly draw near to the grave. The casket is sealed in the vault and lies low in the earth. I feel cold and entombed myself. I breathe in sharply and toss in my rose. I quickly turn as my breath is sucked out of me again; I feel like I am being buried alive. I gasp for air hiding behind the vehicle using it to keep me from falling to the ground. Staccato-like I suck in oxygen. A grief wail almost surfaces. Please, Lord, no! They are waiting for me. 

I force myself to go. I crawl onto the seat & curl up tight. Deep concern fills the vehicle as my sons observe grief with its choke hold on me. I have no strength to pretend I am okay. All my focus is on the next breath. 

I silently cry out to my Healer. My desperate screams reach His ears and touches HIS heart. And HE holds me in the old familiar way & I know I will be okay. HIS peace will come. HIS comfort will give strength. HE will heal and HE will redeem. 

For now, I force myself to breathe. And try to take the next breath deeper than than the last. And I rest in the shelter of HIS tender love.