Elizabeth Kubler-Ross staked her claim in the counseling world with her work entitled “Of Death and Dying.” (Yep, that’s a title that will bring the masses….)
The book
describes the 5 stages of grief, and I remember studying it in college as I majored
in Youth Ministry (technically, I majored in Bible spec. Youth Ministry, but
that’s semantics for you), and thinking it was pure genius. The book (http://www.ekrfoundation.org/five-stages-of-grief/)
does an incredible job of breaking down the grieving process and of destroying
that ridiculous notion that we should all just “suck it up and move on.” It let
us all know that YES, you can cry! You can get angry! You can take all of the
time that you need! And your grief is as unique as you are—there’s no order,
and that’s OKAY!!!!
My
professors at the time had no idea how important all of this information would
become to me throughout my life…how I clung to what I learned, and how I so
desperately needed to hear that what I was feeling in the wake of my daughter’s
death was my own version of normal.
The world
tells us we need to do whatever we need to do, to feel better quickly.
Sometimes,
our families and friends do the same…they want the “old us” back again, but for
me, that person died for a very long time. I know I’m not alone in that…Part
(if not all) of my heart went to a very dark, sad place for years, and it took
years for all of me to emerge.
And when I
finally came out of that dark place, I was someone else…someone who was still
me, but who had lost their “shiny.” I went from being like newly-polished metal
into being more like a hammered shield—still me, still the same materials, but
with an entirely different outlook in every possible way.
It wasn’t an
easy journey, and sometimes, it still isn’t.
This fall
marks what would be my daughter’s 10th birthday, and to be honest, I’m
struggling with it. It’s not like I’m going psycho about it; it’s just a
painful realization, and I don’t think I should have to rationalize my feelings
any further. The labyrinth of grief is so multi-faceted and unique that I am
positive that I am right where I should be for my process, and I would like to
thank Ms. Kubler-Ross for teaching me that I have that permission.
I have
permission to grieve, and though the knowledge of that may have come from Ms.
Kubler-Ross, the grace to do so comes directly from Jesus…from His grace, and
His compassion, and from His ability to carry it all. I have His permission to
mourn what was and what was not (within reason), and I have His consent to
burden Him with my heart. What a wonderful, glorious, awful, thankless thing
for Him to carry…what a huge thing for Him to trade, and what a beautiful
exchange! I give him sorrow, I share my grievances, my anger, my broken hopes
and dreams, my FEARS…He gives me new hope, new joy, new goals, new adventures.
He restores, He soothes, and He LOVES. He gives us permission to express all of
our massive emotions, and He gives us FREEDOM FROM THEM.
I’ve
described my own “stages of grief” in past blogs, but I’m reminded of my own
words: Grief is like a body of water. Some days, you’re drowning in an ocean of
sorrow, you’re Jack and/or Rose floating on a piece of wood in an overwhelming
lost cause…you can’t breathe, you can’t move, and you can’t function.
Some days,
you’re swimming in a river, keeping your head up, but only on the surface. The
slightest tug/pull/reminder, and BOOM, you’re back in the ocean again…
Some days,
it’s a creek, and you walk through the clear water, and it’s up to your knees,
and you can handle it, and you can even see some of the beauty in it…
Some days,
it’s a puddle that you step in and jump over, impressed that it didn’t trip you
up, and you keep walking.
Some days,
it’s a raindrop that falls on your face…you hold the memory in your hand for a
minute, catch your breath, and you keep going…
Until out of
nowhere, you trip, and there you are, back in the river, or the creek, or the
puddle, or sometimes, the ocean again…and you start the process over, and as
time goes on, you navigate the waters more efficiently, and with more grace,
than ever before.
It’s a
constant process.
I feel like
that as the years have gone by, I learn to predict “the markers.” I know
certain things will get to me (like her 10th birthday, or dresses
with flamingos on them, or seeing my niece that was born 2 days before my Hannah
died) to various degrees, so I can prepare myself. Some things still catch me
off-guard, and that’s okay.
One of the
best things I’ve learned is how to gracefully (seriously!) remove myself from
situations and conversations that affect me. I have learned how to stand up for
myself when necessary in this process, and when to take a deep breath and
extend the grace of realizing that people have the “best of intentions, and the
worst of executions” (I should trademark that). People who haven’t been through
deep loss are at a loss for what to do or say, but they sure try; sometimes,
people who HAVE been through deep loss say things that are dumber/more hurtful
than those who haven’t (been there, done that, stuck my foot in my mouth HARD-CORE)!
We are humans, we are unique, and we have big hearts and small brains. What
really and truly matters is that we LOVE the person who’s been going through
grief, and that we remember to put them first. We have a responsibility as
human beings, and as Christians, to bypass drama and simply love. Be there for
the grieving when the audience/drama has left. Be the meal one month into the
process for the family that is so fractured. Be the hug on a busy Sunday
morning when worship has rubbed a stinging, healing balm into a shredded heart.
Be the quiet place for the mind that
cannot make itself turn off the frantic internal screams of pain.
Grief is
such a difficult, unpredictable process, and we all live it out in different
ways. The Five Stages of Grief (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression,
Acceptance) are worked out individually at times; sometimes, they gang up on
you; they play out in unexpected ways. I think the key thing to remember is
that they “play out.”
If you’ve
just gone through a deep loss, first of all, my heart aches for you. It doesn’t
take much for me to tap back into what those early days felt like, and I will
never forget what I went through (publicly and privately). Secondly, please
remember that anyone that tells you to “get better,” or “get back into the
swing of things,” or, “it is what it is,” or “just go back to work and stay
busy, you’ll feel better!”—The person who says those things is not your friend,
and is not a kind of counsel that you need right now. They may think they’re
helping you, but they’re not. Grief is a pushy beast; she WILL be part of your
life, and the more you try to stifle her, the more she will come out in other
areas. Your health will suffer; your mental health will definitely suffer. Your
entire world will suffer until you let yourself be free. You have to give Grief
her time, even though the horrible world keeps right on spinning.
You have to
give yourself permission to grieve.
Your family
and friends need to give you permission to grieve, even in the midst of their
own grief (assuming you have gone through this loss together), and they need
your permission to grieve in their own way.
You have to
be honest with God; He knows how you feel, even if you don’t even know yourself….even
if you don’t want to talk to Him, or if all you want to do is scream at Him (or
scream at Him and beat your steering wheel into a pulp—hey, at least I didn’t
hit a person).
Please give
yourself the gift of time. Let yourself feel; don’t wall yourself off. Know
that you’re going to have good days and you’re going to have awful days. As
time goes on, you’ll have more good than bad; but at first, those bad days are
going to be more prevalent. It’s okay to have a bad day!!!!
Finally,
please know that time really does heal. It doesn’t make it all go away—that’s a
stupid, stupid myth. In my case, I lost
my daughter…she was literally a part of my body, and she was gone. I have
scars, physically and spiritually…I will never be the same, and I embrace that
(although I used to feel that I should be completely healed, now I know that my
scars—seen and unseen—are more like a road map to redemption. They’re markers
of healing, and of undeniable change). Time heals, but you will always have a
marker in your heart, and it alters you.
And that’s
okay.
Ten years is
a long, long time…My grief is nothing like what it was, but there is a
tenderness there that I will not apologize for. There are things to note in
this season that I will probably ponder in my heart more than usual…questions
that will come up, and debates I will resurrect with Jesus. The healing process
is lifelong, I believe, but if we’re willing, it’s lifelong progress…
We have
permission to grieve…permission to question…permission to hurt…We have
permission granted by the very Savior Who willingly carries our every emotion
and burden, and Who gives us the greatest gift of all: Answered Hope.
