My Grief

(written March 2009)
We knew months in advance that it was creeping towards us, but still, the hollowness of his eyes and the gauntness of his face overwhelmed me with the reality of how soon. I felt swallowed in the intense grief that I was losing my dad. He was the first man I ever loved, the first man I relished attention and adoration from, the man no other could compare to. He was the daddy who brought me complete security and acceptance for who I was and who, no matter what my mistakes were, loved me with a deep, unconditional love. It was December 27th, 2008, and it was nearing time to say good bye.

My mother held me close as I sobbed quietly. Her soft hand stroked my hair as her own tears fell. My husband and children stood around the hospital bed trying to take it all in themselves and I felt the weight of needing to be strong for them too, needing to be sturdy mom instead of broken daughter. I just couldn’t get past his beautiful face fading right in front of me. His incredible smile diminishing, his mind crippled by the cancer’s theft of the nutrition he needed. His eyes seemed to search for sense in where he was and who he was with, Momma’s face being the only constant source of comfort and recognition. I couldn’t bear to look at him without tears forming and falling down my face.

A few months before, I had been praying about this impending grief, sharing with God the fear that was inside me at the complete newness of the experience. He laid on my heart the story of Mary and Martha, and their brother Lazarus, who laid buried in a tomb for three days before Jesus arrived. The Bible says that “Jesus wept” as he stood at the grave of his dear friend. I had heard sermons pronouncing His tears to be sadness from his disappointment in Mary and Martha’s lack of faith. But in this quiet moment alone with God, He communicated to my heart that it was so much more than that.

Jesus wept for the loss these precious women were experiencing. His compassion was great and He felt their grief fully. He loved them and ached for their broken hearts. He sympathized and cried right along with them.

Last night, our assistant pastor told a story during his sermon of his wife’s failed back surgery and the long term pain she had went through as a result. He shared an intimate conversation they had had sitting on the edge of their bed.

“Are you praying?” She had asked in the middle of her hopelessness.

“Yes,” He told her, willing to firmly assure her need.

“Why isn’t God doing anything then?” Oh, the question everyone of us will beg an answer for sometime in our lives! Where is He? Why isn’t He doing something to help me? This is too much for me to handle! Right? Haven’t we all fell into that question?
“He is doing something Randee.” Pastor Jones started. “I believe He’s sitting right here on the bed with us, crying tears right along with ours.”

We face so much heartache and questionable, blank futures in this existence. We hit times where we wonder if the joy is worth the pain. We find losses too great to bear and troubles that completely overwhelm the small amount of strength we carry. And we wonder where God is. Jesus told me, in that moment of prayer, that He was right there, crying tears that mingled with my own. I knew that He was standing beside me in my night of mourning, feeling my pain, and being greatly affected because of His great love for me.

As I walked through the hospital corridors, heading back up to my father’s room after dinner, I shared the Mary and Martha moment I had with God with my mom and my eldest sister, Tina. We all three stood silently in the elevator with the mixed comfort and pain from the words spoken out loud, the admission that we would soon be facing our own loss.