Morning Meditation: As I navigate the complexities of grief, I trust God’s promise of joy in the morning. I’m grateful for His presence and comfort. #morningmeditation #grief
Tag: A Grief Observed
When Grief Erupts
“I have cried more and more intensely than I have in years. I have realized that the deep sorrow of grief will not be pushed away forever. Oh I tried by letting it bubble out for brief moments thinking, “I can do this.” Short blasts of tears predict the eruption to come. Body tremors warn of the pain within. Fatigue warns that all is not well in the soul. Then the deep sorrow and anguish of grief erupts. The eruption will not stop until the depth of pain is released.
Note: My husband, John, died almost 8 years ago. I wrote this blog about a year after his passing. As I thought about what to share today, this piece resonated with me. I no longer experience intense eruptions of grief, but I do have moments of sadness. Reading this post again, reminded me of how far I’ve come. Perhaps my words will give someone else hope as they navigate grief.
During the months following John’s death, I took pride in the fact that I was not as distraught as those I read about in various articles or grief blogs. I was emotional, but I was not falling apart. I was tired, but I never felt like I could not get out of bed. I cried, but I never felt so sad I could not speak without crying. I successfully hid the intense emotion. In my mind, I was an expert on grief. I pushed through the hurt. I even taught a class on grief and loss. I convinced myself that I was not an emotional train wreck.
Grief erupts: When a volcano of despair blindsides you
The truth is for 8 months I pushed down every intense emotion that tried to bubble out of my soul by using old habits of coping. I found comfort in food. Food kept the intense sorrow locked inside. I ate when I was alone or when I was sad. Eventually, the volcano of despair could no longer be contained and grief erupted! I woke up as tired as when I went to bed. My body ached in places that had not ached for months. I struggled to get out of bed each day. My tears flowed like lava that cannot be contained.
“I have cried more and more intensely than I have in years. I have realized that the deep sorrow of grief will not be pushed away forever. Oh I tried by letting it bubble out for brief moments thinking, “I can do this.” Short blasts of tears predict the eruption to come. Body tremors warn of the pain within. Fatigue warns that all is not well in the soul. Then the deep sorrow and anguish of grief erupts. The eruption will not stop until the depth of pain is released. The violent eruption exhausts my being. I grasp for something familiar to hold to. I cry, sob and my body trembles until I can cry no more. Then there is calm, but the sadness remains because the reality of the loss is now undeniable. The volcano is quiet for now, but I fear the rumbling within.”
Like a city in the path of the hot, volcanic river of fire, I could not ignore the pain. I was forced to face it. I was forced to accept it. I had no choice. I felt helpless and out of control, which led to anxiety and fear. I tried to manage the eruption without help but soon realized that led to more exhaustion and frustration. I realized my survival depended on yielding to the intensity of emotion. Doing so meant there were tasks I could not perform both personally and at work. I delegated tasks. I rescheduled tasks that could be rescheduled. I accepted that some tasks were left undone. When I needed to cry, I left the office or simply stayed home and worked when I could. Fortunately, my supervisor understood and helped me adjust my schedule to accommodate the onslaught of emotions.
Navigating the eruption
When grief erupts give yourself permission to experience it.
When you fall back into old patterns (and you probably will), have at least one person who will be honest with you. Someone who will point out negative coping. Someone who will direct you to healthy coping to get through the “moment” of stress.
When you begin to feel the exhaustion of grief rest. This may mean taking more breaks during your workday. You may need to take partial or full days off when the eruption is intense. When the exhaustion of grief erupts it invades every fiber of your being. When grief erupts you need to rest.
Find outlets that are healthy and work for you
In order to prevent “capping” the volcano with old behaviors, I wrote my thoughts in my journal. I talked to my counselor. Most importantly I prayed and read my favorite scriptures. I was not perfect in this effort but when I allowed Christ to enter the eruption, my soul was refreshed. My body was renewed. I could face the challenge of a new day.
You are not alone
When grief erupts remember you are not alone. You do not have to “fix this”. Remember Christ’s words, “Come unto me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28. I have used that phrase with clients countless times. I sometimes forget the simplicity of this short scripture. Christ provides all we need for every situation, but we have to “come”, “knock”, “seek”, ask” (Matthew 7:7). I have spoken these words countless times to those I counsel, but I felt guilty applying them to myself. Sometimes, when the heat of the eruption was unbearable, the last thing I wanted to hear was a quote from the Bible. However, this was in fact, what I needed to hear. Only when I allowed the words to sink in was I able to receive. I surrendered pride and allowed Him to comfort me instead of turning to food. I surrendered fear of failure and allowed Him hold me as I cried. I surrendered control and allowed Him to guide me (sometimes through others) toward the peace of letting grief erupt. Letting go of the need to be strong and perfect freed me to “hear, ask, seek and receive” the peace Christ longs to give me. A peace that no bad habit can provide.
How are you manage the eruption of grief? What brings comfort to you? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
When Grief Erupts
“I have cried more and more intensely than I have in years. I have realized that the deep sorrow of grief will not be pushed away forever. Oh I tried by letting it bubble out for brief moments thinking, “I can do this.” Short blasts of tears predict the eruption to come. Body tremors warn of the pain within. Fatigue warns that all is not well in the soul. Then the deep sorrow and anguish of grief erupts. The eruption will not stop until the depth of pain is released.
Note: My husband, John, died almost 7 years ago. I wrote this blog about a year after his passing. As I thought about what to share today, this piece resonated with me. I no longer experience intense eruptions of grief, but I do have moments of sadness. Reading this post again, reminded me of how far I’ve come. Perhaps my words will give someone else hope as they navigate grief.
During the months following John’s death, I took pride in the fact that I was not as distraught as those I read about in various articles or grief blogs. I was emotional, but I was not falling apart. I was tired, but I never felt like I could not get out of bed. I cried, but I never felt so sad I could not speak without crying. I successfully hid the intense emotion. In my mind, I was an expert on grief. I pushed through the hurt. I even taught a class on grief and loss. I convinced myself that I was not an emotional train wreck.
Grief erupts: When a volcano of despair blindsides you
The truth is for 8 months I pushed down every intense emotion that tried to bubble out of my soul by using old habits of coping. I found comfort in food. Food kept the intense sorrow locked inside. I ate when I was alone or when I was sad. Eventually, the volcano of despair could no longer be contained and grief erupted! I woke up as tired as when I went to bed. My body ached in places that had not ached for months. I struggled to get out of bed each day. My tears flowed like lava that cannot be contained.
“I have cried more and more intensely than I have in years. I have realized that the deep sorrow of grief will not be pushed away forever. Oh I tried by letting it bubble out for brief moments thinking, “I can do this.” Short blasts of tears predict the eruption to come. Body tremors warn of the pain within. Fatigue warns that all is not well in the soul. Then the deep sorrow and anguish of grief erupts. The eruption will not stop until the depth of pain is released. The violent eruption exhausts my being. I grasp for something familiar to hold to. I cry, sob and my body trembles until I can cry no more. Then there is calm, but the sadness remains because the reality of the loss is now undeniable. The volcano is quiet for now, but I fear the rumbling within.”
Like a city in the path of the hot, volcanic river of fire, I could not ignore the pain. I was forced to face it. I was forced to accept it. I had no choice. I felt helpless and out of control, which led to anxiety and fear. I tried to manage the eruption without help but soon realized that led to more exhaustion and frustration. I realized my survival depended on yielding to the intensity of emotion. Doing so meant there were tasks I could not perform both personally and at work. I delegated tasks. I rescheduled tasks that could be rescheduled. I accepted that some tasks were left undone. When I needed to cry, I left the office or simply stayed home and worked when I could. Fortunately, my supervisor understood and helped me adjust my schedule to accommodate the onslaught of emotions.
Navigating the eruption
When grief erupts give yourself permission to experience it.
When you fall back into old patterns (and you probably will), have at least one person who will be honest with you. Someone who will point out negative coping. Someone who will direct you to healthy coping to get through the “moment” of stress.
When you begin to feel the exhaustion of grief rest. This may mean taking more breaks during your workday. You may need to take partial or full days off when the eruption is intense. When the exhaustion of grief erupts it invades every fiber of your being. When grief erupts you need to rest.
Find outlets that are healthy and work for you
In order to prevent “capping” the volcano with old behaviors, I wrote my thoughts in my journal. I talked to my counselor. Most importantly I prayed and read my favorite scriptures. I was not perfect in this effort but when I allowed Christ to enter the eruption, my soul was refreshed. My body was renewed. I could face the challenge of a new day.
You are not alone
When grief erupts remember you are not alone. You do not have to “fix this”. Remember Christ’s words, “Come unto me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28. I have used that phrase with clients countless times. I sometimes forget the simplicity of this short scripture. Christ provides all we need for every situation, but we have to “come”, “knock”, “seek”, ask” (Matthew 7:7). I have spoken these words countless times to those I counsel, but I felt guilty applying them to myself. Sometimes, when the heat of the eruption was unbearable, the last thing I wanted to hear was a quote from the Bible. However, this was in fact, what I needed to hear. Only when I allowed the words to sink in was I able to receive. I surrendered pride and allowed Him to comfort me instead of turning to food. I surrendered fear of failure and allowed Him hold me as I cried. I surrendered control and allowed Him to guide me (sometimes through others) toward the peace of letting grief erupt. Letting go of the need to be strong and perfect freed me to “hear, ask, seek and receive” the peace Christ longs to give me. A peace that no bad habit can provide.
How are you manage the eruption of grief? What brings comfort to you? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
Grief is Complicated
Grief is complicated. I thought I had it figured out, but I quickly discovered that I had much to learn.
In this post, I re-visit the difficult topic of grief. While not directly related to recovering from abuse, the post illustrates the importance of connecting to truth and asking for help.
I am grateful to The Perennial Gen for the opportunity to share part of my journey through grief after my husband, John passed away. Also, thanks to Holly Ordway and my classmates in Creative Writing who provided feedback on this piece two years ago.
Grief is complicated. I thought I had it figured out, but I quickly discovered that I had much to learn. Read More.
A Letter to Heaven
My husband,John, helped me resolve the distorted view of love my parents created through abuse. I felt loved for who I am, not what I could offer him. I decided that posting my latest letter to heaven I might help someone realize there is hope even amid tragedy.
Every day at noon my husband, John, and I communicated via text messages. The conversations always began with “how u be?” While the discussions lasted only a few minutes, they were our unique way of sharing our day with each other. The conversations varied from short words of affection to venting frustrations. John’s texts grounded me, made me laugh or sometimes the text messages helped us resolve a conflict or misunderstanding. While John was a man of few words, his well-chosen text messages conveyed affection, support, and love each day at noon.
On August 23, 2013, that changed forever when John passed away in his sleep. Ten days earlier, John, suffered a major heart attack which severely damaged his heart. There were no more text messages, emails or other electronic communication that had become such an intricate part of our life together. Since his death, I periodically write letters to him, not because I expect an answer or that I think he reads them. I write the letters because through the short notes I feel connected to him. The letters have also been a way for me to document my grief journey.
John helped me resolve the distorted view of love my parents created through abuse. I felt loved for who I am, not what I could offer him. I decided that posting my latest letter to heaven I might help someone realize there is hope even amid tragedy.
A Letter to Heaven
My love,
I haven’t written to you for a very long time. I sometimes feel silly that I even think about writing a letter to you. I know that you do not see me or hear me, but somehow writing a letter now and then brings me peace. Yesterday was the fifth anniversary of the heart attack that eventually took you from me. Five years seems like forever, but today it seems like yesterday. My mind races back to the day with so many questions that I cannot count them all. “Why didn’t you call 911 when you knew something was wrong? Why didn’t you tell me the minute I walked in from work that you thought you were having a heart attack?” These and so many more questions haunt me on this anniversary. There are no answers, but the questions remain.
You Would be Proud
I do want to let you know that I am happy, well content anyway. I don’t miss you every day anymore. I miss you when I watch the Texas Rangers play. I don’t cry at the thought of you not being here to watch the game with me. The things that once caused tears to flow now bring a smile to my face. I now enjoy the memories of our life together, but I get sad sometimes when I think of the things you are missing.
Angel graduated from high school in May and just moved into the college dorm. She is all grown up, my love, and you would be so proud of the young woman our granddaughter has become. Korine is teaching High School English and just received a Master’s in Apologetics. Isaac has a girlfriend!
Grief Observed
I have learned something this week, my love. Rationally, I know that you are happy, content and enjoying the company of God. I know that to wish you were still in my life is a selfish thought because you are where you are supposed to be. However, I finally understand in my heart that to want to bring you back is unfair to you. C. S. Lewis reflects in A Grief Observed, “I want her back as an ingredient in the restoration of my past. Could I have wished her anything worse? Having got once through death, to come back and then, at some later date, have all her dying to do over again?”[1] Those words seemed harsh when I read them two years ago. Now, they ring true. I would not wish such sorrow on you. I can’t restore the past.
I miss you, my love, but I realize that our life together would have been so different because of the changes in your health. You were not a good patient, my love. You often got impatient when your body did not allow you to do what you loved. After the heart attack, your activity level changed. Of course, I don’t know how much progress you might have made over time because you died before the first follow up with your doctor.
Moving On
My love, for the first time since you died, I am not overwhelmed with tears as the anniversary of your death approaches. I am reflective, but not sad. I’ve always understood that grief is not an event, but a journey. Lewis describes it best, “Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.”[2] I think I have rounded a new bend that reveals newness, peace, and contentment that I have not experienced for a very long time.
I look forward to the day when we meet again, but I no longer yearn for the memories of our life together. Remembering you now brings a soft smile to my lips.
All My Love,
Me
[1] C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed (London: CrossReach Publications, 2016), 25.
[2]Ibid, 45.
