I’m continuing to do some work on how Christians can walk alongside each other through grief. Partly, that’s about how do we all as believers bare one another’s burdens and partly it’s about how pastors and elders can particularly support church members but it is also about what it means for those of us who grieve.
We tend to be aware of people’s grief in the first few weeks and months of a death and then perhaps at particularly anniversaries. However, first of all, I’m increasingly aware from my own experience and, talking to others that grief is more than that. It is a long term and perhaps life time awareness that someone is missing that you dearly long to have alongside you as a parent, child, spouse, sibling or close friend. It is much more than the short term crisis.
Becky Pegg, a friend and member of our church put it like this in a comment on Facebook.
“Grief is like a fizzy liquid. It’s all shaken up with an impending death and when it happens it’s like the lid taken off. Slowly, slowly, it calms down. But random memories still bubble up from nowhere. They appear less and less and hurt less and less but they will still pop up occasionally and unexpectedly even years afterwards. I call them my grief bubbles. Just let them rise in their own time and let them out. And that’s still okay, even decades afterwards”
Her description of ongoing grief resonated strongly with others in the conversation. One reason that it can bubble up from nowhere” is that ongoing grief after loss is not about one major anniversary of a death because there was a build up to the death that could have been weeks or months in advance.
It means there may be lots of micro moments and memories in the buildup. For example, today was the day that my mum was intubated, three years ago following surgery, The previous day I had dashed up from Birmingham to visit her in ICU following surgery on the 21st November to try and correct a hiatus hernia. I am glad that I had that afternoon because although mum had been struggling for breath when I got there, she was alert, very much herself and wanting to talk. She was proud to tell the nurse with her “this is my son” and it became apparent that she had been talking about her children to them. We had hoped on the 23rd to hear that mum was turning a corner in her recovery but instead were called to say that the medical team had decided she needed greater assistance with her breathing. There was a mad dash to the hospital to see her before she was intubated but traffic meant that we got there too late.
Back at the October half term we had gone up northeast to see my nephew and considered popping into Bradford on the way home but didn’t. Later that week our niece was down visiting us and I remember talking about mum’s upcoming operation. We had expressed hopes for a potential improvement in her quality-of-life post-surgery.
Sarah’s dad died suddenly on the 12th November and mum was in constant touch, concerned for her daughter in law and family over those few weeks. I remember mum sending flowers to Sarah’s mum and phoning her to check in. I also remember her talking to me and sharing her own memories of losing her dad when she was still relatively young in her 30s. The weekend fter Sarah’s dad died, we went back down to Kent to be with her family. Sarah was at one of the other schools in her trust and so I’d gone Christmas shopping in Stratford on Avon before meeting her there. Stratford was also a place that mum had lived once and somewhere that we had been to on a day out when my parents visited. I remember being in touch with mum by text that day.
It was the Monday after that mum went into hospital and we drove back home from Medway that afternoon, waiting news. Three things stand out, England were playing Iran in the Qatar World Cup and racking up the goals, there was a terrible storm with wind and rain lashing the car and Sarah was heavily focused on the road, and we were keeping an eye on WhatsApp for mum to come out of surgery. I remember that feeling of relief as we got the news that she was in the recovery room and apparently okay.
The next two weeks were a roller coaster ride of discouragements as we were warned that she was on a knife-edge. The shock of seeing her on mechanical ventilation and wondering if she was able to hear what we were saying. She told us with a nod in the final days that she had heard everything. Then moments of hope as there were encouraging signs of improving blood pressure and oxygen rates and conversations about what life after ICU might be like. Then there was the crashing and crushing moment when we were told that she had an infection and wasn’t going to recover.
So, for me, memories around that main anniversary are stretched out. However, of course, there’s much more than that. Someone else told me that they aren’t so much affected by anniversaries. Every day they are aware that their dad has gone. And anyone will tell you that it’s often those moments when you just find yourself thinking “ooh I must tell them about ….” Then you realise you can’t. It’s waking from a dream when they were there and realising that they are not. It’s desperately longing for their advice or just their prayerful, supporting presence at a difficult time. It’s the other, different situations that trigger a memory and reaction.
There are implications from this of course. First, I think for those who grieve. It’s a marathon not a sprint. And that’s a good thing because when God wants to teach us and give us something good, he often takes time about it. Don’t feel that you’ve got to rush to get out of grief. Take time to see what God is doing. Remember that he wants to grown perseverance, endurance and hope in you. Grief now reminds us that we are looking forward to home.
Secondly, we have to do better as churches at equipping people for the long haul. That means being alert to both the specific poignancy of anniversaries and the day to day journey through grief. Don’t stop checking in on people.
It means that whilst books and Bible studies about grieving may be helpful, we cannot rely on them to do the real work of healing and producing holiness. That’s where good, persistent, solid, reliable unfancy teaching and preaching come in. But its also about how we make use of moments and memories. I’m not an Anglican or Catholic but I think there is something in the kind of thing that All Saints Day offers to pause or remember. Remembrance Sunday is of course a particularly significant day for many. I’m also aware of churches picking up on a newish tradition, I think in some quarters it is referred to as “Blue Christmas” and also as “the longest night”. The idea is to provide a reflective gathering on the 21st December for those without loved ones during the festive season.
I would love to hear your reflections on this subject. Please drop a line in the comments below.
Faithroots 