A Grief Observed

Grief does not seem to have a logical progression, but we trust that God is at each turn.

It is perhaps counterintuitive, but on some days the pain is more intense now than it has ever been. In the weeks following Micah's death, we were not capable of grasping the magnitude of the loss because it was so new. We were also provided with the God-given human response of shock throughout those first few weeks. Now, the shock is wearing off. After these 6 weeks, we continue to "wake up" to what happened to us, to the horror of the events of that day, and to finality of our loss. After the last few months of joyous noises in our house--of a little boy laughing at the dog, of crying before naps, and of loving parents singing and reading to their little boy--the house is now so painfully quiet.

C.S. Lewis talks about his experience with grieving the loss of his wife in writing the little book, Grief Observed:
"I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process. It needs not a map but a history, and if I don't stop writing that history at some quite arbitrary point, there's no reason why I should ever stop. There is something new to be chronicled every day. Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape. As I've already noted, not every bend does. Sometimes the surprise is the opposite one; you are presented with exactly the same sort of country you thought you had left behind miles ago. That is when you wonder whether the valley isn't a circular trench. But it isn't. There are partial recurrences, but the sequence doesn't repeat. "

Many days seem like walking through deep dark valleys. The pain casts darkness over our ability to walk the path immediately in front of us. Without a lamp--that is, without the ability to see into the future-- we don't how long this darkness will last, where the path will take us, or what predators we must face. Right now, darkness clouds our horizon because our future has been intertwined with our hopes and dreams for our son and for the life that we planned to enjoy with him.

How grateful we are for the promises of scripture.
"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me,
your rod and your staff
they comfort me."
Psalm 23:4

Regardless of how deep our grief is and could become, God promises that there is no depth of grief to which He cannot reach. How I love God's infinite power and reach--for while the suffering seems to me to have no bottom, that doesn't mean that God has'not measured the depth of my grief, and has (and will) give me strength to reach the bottom of it. While he doesn't tell us what the future holds, or that we won't be without conflict or suffering, we are promised that the grace he will give us in the future will be sufficient to walk through this valley of darkness, however long it takes, and whatever obstacles we meet.