Choosing a Good Grief

Long before the emergency room doctor turned to me with sad eyes and told me my husband was gone, I knew. In fact, I think I knew he would not be revived while he was still on our bedroom floor, a half-dozen paramedics busily preparing him to be transported to the hospital. Something deep within me just knew that early morning would be the last I would spend with my husband.

Some people might call it “woman’s intuition,” or a sixth sense. But I don’t believe in such things.

No, I believe that the Holy Spirit was stirring deep within me that morning, preparing my heart and disbelieving mind for what was to come. And while it didn’t give me comfort, necessarily, it did help to buffer the soul-crushing shock of it all.

I wish I could tell you I started praying in those first moments after losing him. I wish I could tell you I raised my hands in worship, thanking and praising God for the gift of my husband and the time I had with him. I wish I could tell you my faith did not waver for one moment as I sat with his lifeless body and waited for the Medical Examiner to come for him.

The truth, though, is that in those long, hollow hours in that hospital room, I was numb and my soul was in limbo. I could not do much more than rest my head on my husband’s chest and shake it in denial, repeating over and over, “No. NO. NO! No no no no no no no.” It wasn’t until the last hour before the M.E. came that I realized I had to make a choice: lean into Jesus and let him carry me through this, or turn away from him in the midst of heartache, as I had done so many times in my past.

The first time I walked through deep grief, I was twenty years old. My high school sweetheart, whom I had loved so deeply that I followed him to college with dreams of marriage, decided suddenly that he did not love me anymore. He broke my heart and then cut off all communication with me, turning his back on over five years of love and friendship as if it had never happened. As you can imagine, I was gutted. And although this was not a loss as tragic as losing my husband, at the time (and for many years after) it was the single most painful loss I had ever experienced. For me, it was a death of sorts, and I reacted to it as such.

I have no doubt that God was there, encouraging me to lean into him on that day when I lost my first love, but at the time, I could not see him through my pain. Instead, I remember making a conscious choice not to lean into Jesus, but instead to run from him. In my grief and anger, I chose to rebel, to turn my back on God, and to Band-Aid my grief with bad choices.

Because of that choice, I spent many years wandering in the wilderness of depression and emptiness. Of course, I carried on with my life and accomplished many things, as we all do. To most people who knew me, I appeared a happy, normal, thriving young woman; the truth was that I was unhappy and lost, bitter and scared.

Slowly, however, my heart began to thaw toward God, and he began tugging on it ever so gently, drawing me back toward him. It was around that time that I met my future husband. He, too, had been hurt to the point of turning away from God, but the seed of Truth was still there in both of us. Together, growing first as a couple and later as a family, we leaned more and more into Jesus. We found our way back to knowing and loving him. He healed our hearts and soothed our hurts. Life was good.

Until it wasn’t.

On that early morning, as I lay my head on the cold body of my husband, I knew God was asking me to make a choice again. Would I run, as I had before, or would I surrender all my hurt and pain into his waiting, faithful hands? Would I listen to the Spirit whispering to me to trust him, or would I lean into my own flawed, human understanding?

In those minutes before my husband’s body was taken away, I found myself laying my hands on him, by that time with his parents and brother surrounding me, and praying out loud my thanks and praise for the gift that I had known in him. I thanked God that we knew my husband was now at the feet of his Savior where there was no more pain and suffering, where there were no tears, and that my beloved was experiencing pure bliss in the presence of our God. I don’t truly understand where the words I spoke came from, nor do I comprehend how I mustered the strength and presence of mind to utter a single syllable. But I have no doubt that in my deepest, darkest pain and grief, the Lord held me in the palm of his mighty hand and urged me to lean in.

So I did. I am. And I will continue.

Although it is still less than a year since the loss of my husband, I can already tell that this time, my response is different. Yes, the pain can be all-consuming. Yes, the grief threatens to drown me on a daily basis. Yes, I long for my husband and my old life. I still find myself angry and sad and scared and hurt. All of the old, familiar feelings are there. But this time, God is also there. He is walking me through the hurt and assuring me he will not let me drown under these waves of grief. He promises me and our babies a future and a hope, despite what we have lost.

This time, I choose not to run away, but instead to let him carry me. This time, I am leaning into his promise–and I will hold him to it, just as he holds me in it.

Cheyenne Bell is a writer and blogger with a slight obsession for old homes and good coffee. Cheyenne’s blog, Sense & Serendipity, focuses on inspiring others to create a home well loved and a life well lived. Cheyenne lives in Buda, Texas, with her amazing children, Aislin and Hawkins.

Photograph © Gaelle Marcel, used with permission