They say the third month is the hardest. It’s after life goes back to normal for everyone but you. You understand and even expect it – but, even so, it’s very hard.
When someone close to you dies, the world goes from vivid color to black & white. Everything is the same – and, yet, everything has completely changed.
In the third month, you become very aware that your loved one is gone and life will never be the same again.
As I have written before, God in His great love gives us the time to allow it all to sink in. We need that protection in the early days after a death. There is so much to do and so much to get through. I believe He gives us cover as we do the things that must be done.
But now, as the third month begins to unfold, most of those tasks are behind me and life goes on. The grief is harder now and comes in waves when I least expect it. While I’m not depressed and I am going on with my daily life, my world isn’t back to vivid color yet.
I came across this a few weeks ago:
“The death of a mother is the first sorrow wept without her.” – Author Unknown
How true. I am heartbroken and suffering the most significant loss of my life and she is not here to help me. I miss my mom.
The grief waves are disorienting and unpredictable. They did not come on Mother’s Day or her birthday last week as I expected. They do not come when I visit the cemetery or when comforting my dad.
Instead, they are unpredictable and disorienting because they come for no apparent reason. They just show up out of nowhere and roll right over me, knocking me down.
At the loss of his wife, C.S. Lewis wrote:
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness…”
This is exactly what the waves feel like to me. They bring a ‘doom and gloom’ feeling that washes over me – just like fear.
When this dread shows up, it is hard to feel anything else. It’s hard to feel God is with me. I have no doubt He is, but the waves of grief make me seem invisible – unseen.
Thankfully, I am able to identify this as a lie even in the middle of it.
The truth is, I am not invisible to God or to others.
This week, a surprise package came in the mail at just the right time.
A woman who I have only known a short time sent me a lovely note along with a small book on grief. In the note, she shared her own experience of losing both her mother and her beloved son. She told me that this book would be one of four books she will be sending to me over the coming year.
She committed to remembering me for the entire first year!
Even though life must go on, and the immediate emergency has passed, God continues to send those who serve out of their own pain and brokenness.
They are called ‘wounded healers’.
This sweet gesture, from a sister sharing her own grief with me, reminded me of what I already knew but could not feel.
He is El Roi, the God who sees us. He knows everything about us. He numbers the hairs on our head and knows our circumstances – past, present and future.
He sees me. And through her kindness, I saw Him.
“You are the God who sees me, for she said, I have now seen the One who sees me.” Genesis 16:13
You might be surprised to know that I am actually grateful for the waves of grief.
I don’t like them one bit, but I am thankful to know what they feel like. This knowledge has actually enlarged my heart and given me deeper empathy for any who are grieving.
There are some things we can only learn in the dark times – when the world has turned to black & white.
He redeems it all, though.
He transforms us into wounded healers who remind those who are hurting and feeling invisible that their Lord, El Roi, still sees them.
If you are new to my blog and are interested in reading more about grief, you may want to go to my previous post: You Will Never Truly Understand {until it happens to you}
