The Reflecting Pool of Grief

The moment I hear someone else has lost a loved one, particularly a spouse or
significant other, my heart sinks a little. I hate it.

​I hate it because I know it. I am flooded with empathy and reminders of how I have felt or even, at times, still feel. While the details surrounding grief are often different, there are pieces that still look and feel the same. There are parts I wish I could fix or provide a different solution for the depth of pain that I know someone is now experiencing.

Sadly, there are no simple solutions to questions and heartache. It simply takes time. Time to sit with the feelings and questions you now face. It takes strength to sit in the silence of a home that was much louder than it seems today. Above all, it takes a new level of hope and belief that there is more to this weary world than the inevitable sting of grief that breaks our heart more often than we want.

For the past couple weeks, my mind and heart have been processing the loss of my boyfriend’s father, Jerry. This man lived an incredible life for 88 years, which we all agree was still too short. He lived with purpose and resilience, he took chances, had adventures, and loved his friends and family well – including his wife, Dee, of 67 years.

Throughout February, I spent time with Jerry and his family in the hospital until the last day. I helped with funeral plans, and was there for some of the “firsts” that happen when someone dies. Being in this space felt familiar, I knew what things could happen next. I understood how sorrow would ripple out and trigger greater waves of grief. The anticipation of knowing didn't make it easier, but it did offer greater perspective and understanding.

Still, I hate it.

Right after Jerry’s passing, I even kicked the snow and exclaimed, “Grief is dumb.” It is frustrating. It hurts.

So what’s the positive here? Yeah, that's the tricky part.

As I look at my own journey, I can still find a thread of hope. Don't get me wrong, the hurt is very real and all the parts of grief from acceptance to bargaining to ridiculous tears, to questioning everything in between remains complex. The positive in this particular moment is that I have been able to sit alongside another family and simply say, “I know and I’m here.”

It is an odd turn of events stemming from losing a spouse that brought me to a point of where I am now. I linger in this space where I can support a grieving spouse, son, and dear family members. It is a unique arena where I can talk about Josh in the same space as Jerry – even though they never met or knew each other. It seems somewhat surreal at times.

As I continue to process grief and look deeper into the reflecting pool, I continue to see God’s grace and strength, there is even a shimmer is beauty in the reflecting pool. Of course, just like any pool of water, there are times when it gets murky or muddy and I have to take time for things to settle. It's in the murky moments when it seems particularly tough.

How long will it take to see the beauty again? The answer is never quite the same, but it does come, it always does.

If you are feeling a little lost or hopeless in your grief journey, keep holding on. Remember that you are loved and know that time provides space for hope yet again.

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Photo by Jenn Brown - Reflections