Grief & Grace (Part 1)
It comes to me at random moments with no apparent trigger, but with a stab in the gut. It’s that realization that you never stop realizing: “I can’t believe she’s gone.”
I’m speaking of my aunt, whom we lost last year to cancer. But I’m sure you have your own ‘he’ or ‘she.’
Last year was tough for my family. We lost Vita and Grandma (Vita’s mom) in the same week. That summer, my last remaining grandpa followed.
This is a blog about beauty, but tonight I find myself talking about death. On Christmas! Because while sometimes those realizations of a lost loved one can be random, they are of course glaringly present at the holidays. The holidays can be such a time of grief for people.
But I also hope it’s a time of grace.
For instance, when I look back to that time in our lives, one of my most prevalent memories, besides the grief, was the warmth and love. And that’s what I’m calling grace: the consolations that help us through. They don’t erase grief, but rather, make it survivable.
There was grace in how friends of the family provided three weeks of meals for those hospice vigils. There was grace in how my one-year old nephew was there crawling around, somehow making everyone smile and laugh with his delightful innocence. There was grace in gathering to surround my aunt’s bed with hymns and prayers despite the impending outcome. There was grace in togetherness and in shared faith.
Below is a photo of my sister Karen holding Aunt Vita’s hand, with her “Believe” tattoo.
But “belief” can sound a bit vague and fairy tale-ish. There are many days where I'm not really sure what I believe.
But.
“There are so many stories more beautiful than answers.” -Mary Oliver (my favorite poet!)
There's a story written about a woman who sends for Jesus to heal her dying brother. He arrives three days later, but the brother is already gone. "If you had been here, then my brother would not have died!" she cries out. I love her response. How many of us with faith have felt this way? Fill in the blank:
"God, if you had been here, than _______ would not have died."
He says to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
That's quite a claim!
And then he brings her brother back to life.
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You’re praying praying praying for a miracle of healing, until that one day when you come again by the bedside and you finally relent to that other prayer. Instead of "heal her," it’s "take her." How can we pray such a thing? We see the suffering of the beloved, and that stone of acceptance that has been sinking in your stomach touches bottom, with nowhere else to go, and you concede with the most selfless words you could ever say: “It’s okay to go.”
No, Jesus did not heal my aunt. In the story of the Gospels, he did not resurrect everyone. I don't think that was the point. The story with the brother was just a resuscitation anyway, because he would eventually die again just like all of us. Jesus was just demonstrating what he could, and promises, to do, not just temporarily, but forever.
It's just a story, right?
“There are so many stories more beautiful than answers.”
I confess I don't always understand the true nature of belief and how it all works together. And I'm certainly not satisfied by simple answers. But there is a story that consoles me, and it's one I've intentionally spent a lot of time gazing at this Christmas season. It's the story that an invisible, unknowable Creator put on human flesh and came to walk in our shoes and relate to us in our sufferings, and to go before us through the valley of the shadow of death so that we could follow without fear.
It's a story, a myth, one among many, but unlike any other. And the thing with stories is that some can be true. And if this one is, well it's not necessarily an "answer," but rather a beautiful mystery--one that resonates deep inside, one with implications I could spend a lifetime contemplating. And so the story becomes the answer.
My hope is that this season, we can all open ourselves up to the possibility that these stories we tell ourselves could be true, and find beauty in the mysteries.
And may you experience grace in the grief, and in some moments, even find yourself surprised by joy.
-Michelle
