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Here I sit at my computer, reading your kind comments in response to my grief journey and posting my replies. I thought just this morning how I feel so much better and how writing about my loss helps me heal. Maybe even faster than normal. And maybe it helps you, too.
Then I opened my email. The Mail Delivery Subsystem wrote me to say, "Delivery to the following mail recipient has been delayed." You guessed it: my brother's email.
The lump is back again and the tear ducts are working just fine. I hate this.
Emily Nussbaum and her figurative language….
2 days ago
10 comments:
I'm sure others have told you that working through the grieving process takes time. You'll have good days and ones that will seem like your brother just passed away. It's okay to cry. It's okay to miss him. You will always miss him, but you will find that, over time, the intensity of it will diminish. And you don't walk alone through this–you have your family and friends, and more importantly, the Holy Spirit is with you as your personal Comforter. Let them help you. Although you may feel like they'll tire of hearing you tell them how much you miss him, they won't, but they will help you move forward in spite of the loss.
Paul, you're right. I know my journey is made easier because of the kindness of my friends and the help of the Holy Spirit. I just hate it when the grief jumps out at odd times and I find myself bursting into tears in the middle of the bank, for instance. I look at other people differently now, though. I look at strangers and ask myself, "What is she going through today?" And I wonder if there's some kindness I can show her. Despite my hatred of the tears, grief is teaching me compassion.
Funny. Grief taught me the opposite--to accept compassion from others. Even complete strangers. I have been comforted by the innate goodness of people in the oddest situations.
Oh Heather, that makes me cry. I am guessing an e-mail you had sent to comfort your brother has just now been returned to you unopened. Keep picturing your brother in our Lord's arms. No comfort on earth could measure up to that. Love Donna
Thank you, Donna. And thank you for your friendship.
That's the way of grief. There will be many good days, but there will always be those moments when it smacks you with such fierceness you can hardly breath. My family and I went to eat at Ryan's on day. They were giving out samples of fried catfish. Though my Grandpa had died when I was a teenager, my Grandma had died a few months before. We used to have family fish fries. The nostalgia washed over me with such strength that I teared up and had to leave shortly after. John asked what was wrong and I couldn't talk. He asked if I wanted them to take it away and I just shook my head, "no." It's strange how it hits you like that, but it does. Thankfully, we don't live in it every moment of every day. Hugs, Heather! I love you!
Linnette, thank you for telling me that we don't live in it every minute of every day. That gives me hope!
Lisha, what a good lesson to learn: accepting compassion from others. My old pastor used to call that "getting grace notes." I like that. :)
Heather,
Today I am reminded that the One who conquered death and the grave is the same God that has given us our emotions – joy and sorrow. Grief is the hardest thing we humans can experience. No words can make it go away. Nothing but time can lessen the sting. However, I am completely convinced that our God can not lie and His infallible word promises us that He will never give us more than we can handle.
Words well meant seem so hollow at times like these. But know that you are surrounded by family and friends that love you and continue to pray for your strength and peace. May the Risen Lord continue to hold you tight in His arms.
George, thank you for stopping by and for taking the time to encourage me. It's good to know I have far-flung friends like who keep me in their prayers even though we don't get to see each other. Thank you!
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