Exhausted Grief

"Give sorrow words.

The grief that does not speak

Whispers the o’erfraught heart

and bids it break." — William Shakespeare

I’ve been grappling with the subject of grief for the duration of my life. It is a conversation that my clergy friends and I have spoken about, wait - are they my friends? Ouch...

Yet losing my son transformed the world into something new and almost unrecognizable, to the point where I am still grappling with the passing of old ways of life and being.

I could not have foreseen just how dramatically the ways of life we’ve always taken for granted would shift almost overnight.

There are lessons that I have learned in my grief journey that I keep written on sticky notes in my calendar, atop my home office, and even as daily reminders in my phone.

Not to sound largely christian-ish, some of it comes from failing in my faith, failing in my career, failing as a mom, failing as a wife, and failing as a mental health survivor.

NORMALIZE GRIEF: DEATH COMES BEFORE RESURRECTION Our culture is not adept at grief. It makes us uncomfortable. We haven’t been taught what to do with such big, unruly feelings.

As a result, repressed grief comes out as maladaptive behaviors: addiction, any one of the -isms that scapegoats entire groups of people, rage, numbing, withdrawal, etc.

In the handling of the loss of my son, I found that even the Church sometimes fails at helping people grieve properly: we sanitize burials or hold a worship service that is only a celebration of life without also acknowledging the devastation of death.

One concern I hold is that we will rush to celebration as this pandemic ends—before we have properly “buried” all we have lost.

Yes, grief is uncomfortable and makes many squirm, even clergy.

But resurrection—new life—happens after death. Not before it. I've seen it looking into the eyes of my grandson, who barely knows me, yet I've seen his soul before.

To my fellow clergy... BY ALL MEANS, PREACH THE JOY AND HOPE OF THE RESURRECTION OF THE DEAD—BUT FIRST NAME WHO AND WHAT HAS DIED.

To paraphrase a scene from one of my favorite movies The Princess Bride, Resurrection doesn’t happen for the “mostly dead.” It happens for the “all dead.”

We must help people bury their figurative—and perhaps literal—dead. And trusted authorities —clergy—help dignify grief by acknowledging it.

NAMING OUR LOSSES PUTS US ON A PATH TO HEALING One of the most helpful things to do, is to identify and name the losses—small and large—as the world continues to change.

Shamelessly I feared that drawing attention to losses agitates wounds or drags people into my despair.

However, the converse is true.

If we don’t name and talk about them, as Shakespeare says, our hearts will be o’erfraught and break.

Grief is unique and painful to each of us, and during this pandemic, losses will multiply. If we fail to acknowledge these losses, not only will the griefs compound, they will become entrenched.

They’ll get stuck in our hearts, causing shame that we feel this way, melancholy, depression, resentment, and/or bitterness—unless we provide an outlet.

*** Welcome to my Outlet***

Paradoxically, acknowledging our losses and feeling the attendant hurt, anger, sadness, and pain is a necessary step toward healing.

A HIERARCHY OF LOSS HELPS NO ONE

One obstacle to acknowledging our grief is feeling embarrassed about our loss because we compare it to others’.

To name just a few of my own losses, I've lost my only son, the affection of a bonus daughter, my career trajectory, my ability to have another child before being labeled high-risk or geriatric pregnancy, the ease of impressing my daughter, the innocence of ministry, those clergy friends I mentioned earlier - ouch- and most of all, I keep losing my self-confidence.

Plus, I’ve lost sleep as I’ve prayed for those I know have lost beyond measure in the pandemic and before, or whose loved ones are now ancestors, and those waiting for a transition.

I’ve also lost energy and focus as the grief of the world seeps into my bones and heart.

Daily I crash as soon as I get home, sleep, yet do not rest, then rise just to do it all again.

Why name all of these various losses?

Because even if someone in my close circle were to die and my grief were to be compounded, it means just that: the grief is compounded.

I will still have to grapple with the other losses.

No loss, even if it’s as small as an ice cube, will melt because it floats next to an iceberg.

Hear me now: grief is grief. And all grief needs expression.

It dignifies and honors what people hold in their hearts, and gives them an avenue to let it go.

So what about you? Yes You reading this-

No matter how trivial or devastating you feel your losses are:

What is your outlet for them?

With whom are you naming them?

Who is honoring the events and people that matter to you that you won’t get back?

Especially for those of you who feel isolated in ministry, who listens to you?