I return again and again to The Problem of Pain and A Grief Observed, though the latter is so raw, there are times I can barely read it. Lewis knew pain, and he didn’t put suffering in a theological box. Instead he left room for it to expand to its full reality and showed how even at its greatest, God’s reach was infinitely more.
The soft chimes on my phone alarm sounded on the nightstand next to me. I opened my eyes long enough to find the phone, slide the alarm to snooze, and set it back down. For one blissful second, life felt good and normal. But just as quickly, the bleak reality of my life rushed in…
I recently had a birthday. The second birthday I’ve “celebrated” without my husband. That’s how I track time now. Before he died. After he died. That’s not grief or mourning. It’s just the way it is. Keeping track of time by his death comes as naturally to me as breathing. Many don’t get it, but…
Pain is a strange companion of ours, whether we like it or not. There’s pain in our very welcome to this world, we fall and scrape our knees as we learn to walk, baby teeth have to be pulled in order for permanent teeth to show up and do their work. Seeds must shatter for…
I’m sitting here writing an article about grieving at a time when I’m grieving more than I ever have in my life. You might think it’s the worst time to tackle a topic like this, but in some ways it’s therapeutic. My husband, excuse me, ex-husband, filed for divorce a year ago, and everything has…
It’s been more than 50 years, but I can still picture the scene: my family sitting at the dinner table when the phone rings. My dad answers, not saying much. And then the pronouncement: our sweet little dog, Ginger, was gone. I was very young, so I didn’t understand everything, but I understood that I…
I sit on a black leather couch next to my husband, Kevin, in our grief-counselor’s office. A box of Kleenex rests on a small coffee table in front of us, and one of those framed pieces of coffee-shop art—a black and white photograph of rough-hewn hands holding coffee beans—hangs on the wall above us. Coffee…
How does a mother learn to breathe again after her baby dies? One breath in. One breath out. And then again. And again. I delivered two healthy sons before experiencing my first miscarriage—the deepest form of personal crisis I’ve yet endured, leaving me reeling and disoriented. And then I experienced another. And another. And another….
I feel sad, and I don’t want to feel sad. My husband and I have begun a conversation about moving from the neighborhood and the town where we have spent decades. Rather than feeling sad, I want to focus my emotional energy on the joys of new opportunities and new adventures. I don’t enjoy the…
I’ve started lighting a candle every time I lose something. Not when I lose something like my keys or cell phone. I light a candle when I face the kind of loss that causes grief—from the seemingly insignificant grief of the loss of time with friends during a pandemic year, to the more recognizable grief…
Your loved one has died. The shock wears off and there are arrangements to be made, people to call. And in between, you ask yourself if it’s real. Grief comes and makes himself comfortable in your life. And you quietly wonder if he’ll ever leave. But what if there are no arrangements to be made…
I once lived in a second-story condo along a large river and if I’d had any arm strength whatsoever, it would’ve been a stone’s throw from the water. A pair of great blue herons lived within sight of what was my favorite spot—an 8×5 deck just off the dining room. I never grew bored of…
A winter tomb. A cavern womb. A lodge for pain. Grief branches into limbs and sinew and marrow. Ache lingers there. Warm brown arms envelope this tomb. Breath buries into her bosom. “Release that pain!” Her prayer over me unfurls its rooted hold. Tendrils of freedom now seed that womb. There is room for Spring….
“Thank you, Jesus!” she cried, her husband gripping her hands as she bore down with one last great shudder, pushing their third child, their first daughter, into my lap. Her prayer blessed this routine labor, which spilled forth in blood and amnion on my feet. At that moment, I murmured by own prayer of gratitude:…