Grieving with Hope

I didn’t expect grief to show up today.

My father passed away about three months ago. I spent most of the first few weeks crying off and on. The weight of his death seemed almost too much to bear.

I’m new to this grief thing. I’ve lost grandparents to death, friends to unlikely circumstances, communities to job changes, and seasons of my kids needing me. All have produced some sort of grief but nothing like losing a parent. I’ve dipped my toes into despair in the past, but this time I’m submerged.

As I rolled over in bed this morning, this thought hit me: I won’t hear my dad wish me a happy birthday today. I tried to dismiss it with gratitude. After all, I have a lot to be thankful for. My husband already spoiled me rotten with a kid-free trip for my fortieth birthday, and I knew today would be filled with unexpected blessings. Wasn’t that enough?! That thought worked for a while, because who wants to be sad on their birthday?

I emerged from my bed, grabbed coffee, and tried to tell myself I should be happy. The kids showered me with gifts, and my husband talked about the dinner we’ll have later tonight.

Count your blessings. Isn’t that what we’re told to do? Make a list of everything we’re grateful for, and then life will be happy again. It’s as if gratitude is our magic wand, and we wave it when life gets too complicated.

Since we don’t openly talk about grief as a culture, I think we have a disillusioned view of what it should look like for each of us. We don’t know what’s “normal” or right. I sure didn’t.

Grief doesn’t fit in a box. It’s unpredictable. Insidious. Imposing. It demands to be felt. It can’t always be explained, and it doesn’t just come on when there is physical death. I grieved when we moved to a different state and left the friends we loved so much. Sometimes grief takes years to walk through, and what I’ve learned most is that everyone grieves differently.

Our culture seems to dismiss sadness and grief. They both get the label “wrong.” They’re something we hurry each other through by saying things like, “It will all be okay,” “He’s in a better place now,” “Look at all your blessings.” Like just because you’re blessed, you shouldn’t be sad. When in actuality, someone’s sadness makes us uncomfortable, and instead of sitting in the uncomfortableness, we feel the need to place a Band-Aid on it with our words. In reality, silence is best.

In saying these things and not holding space for the sadness, we silence others from expressing their pain, and in doing so, they feel alone and isolated. Instead of openly talking about their loss, they pretend to be happy and say things like, “God is so good. Aren’t we blessed?”

I didn’t quite understand the relationship between gratitude and grief until my mom walked in my back door at lunchtime today with a bouquet of flowers and a gift. We enjoyed lunch together on my actual birthday. I can’t remember the last time that happened. She told me about my birth and how I was a miracle baby because it took them so long to get pregnant. We laughed about how my dad ran out and bought everything pink after I was born. She talked about finding her new normal. We both teared up, remembering my father.

As we talked, I felt the presence of grief and happiness. Together. Existing together. Not replacing each other.

That’s when I realized that gratitude doesn’t replace grief, they co-exist. Gratitude and grief can live together in harmony. By embracing both gratitude and grief, we find joy in the sorrow. It’s a beautiful thing.

We need to break the habit of thinking we need to fix things. Gratitude isn’t there to fix grief; that’s not its job. Grief is meant to be felt. Being sad is okay. Looking on the bright side doesn’t make the pain any less painful; it just numbs the process of grief.

In her book It’s OK That You’re Not OK, Megan Devine says, “The idea that appreciating what you’ve got is the antidote for the pain of what you’re missing, that is a central fallacy. Gratitude and grief don’t cancel each other out. They exist side by side.”

God created us complex beings. Sadness and happiness can co-exist. If you’re walking through grief, allow yourself to feel it. It helps to find a few trusted friends to talk about the pain. Remember, there is no right way to grieve, but if you’re a believer, you can grieve with hope. Grieving with hope looks like continuing to take your feelings to the feet of Jesus and staying in the Word, reminding yourself of the truth, and keeping yourself connected to a body of other believers.

Remember, “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning” (Psalm 30:5 KJV).

Lea Turner is a wife and mother of five, three who grew in her belly and two in her heart through adoption. She is on a journey of resting fully in the love of the Father by letting go of striving and walking fully in her identity. She has a passion to inspire others to work from a place of rest rather then strive from a place of anxiety. Lea blogs at LeaTurner.com.

Photograph © Arif Riyanto, used with permission