The Relentlessness of Grief

Over the last several days I have repeatedly experienced a strong tension between contradictory thoughts. They seem to happen in rapid succession, each with full conviction.

The first thought abruptly ends stretches of time in which I do not feel heavy-hearted. Sometimes I experience these moments of relative light-heartedness because of exhaustion (too tired to feel or, at least, feel deeply), sometimes it is because I am busy or distracted (it’s amazing how quickly we are back into some of the mundane things of life), and sometimes it is because of joy (as today when I spent the day enjoying my family). Usually these moments are a welcome respite… until I am cognizant of them. Then, however, my mind quickly shifts to the realization that my son died 4 days ago and that we laid him in the ground yesterday. In that moment it hurts my heart to realize that thoughts of him are not always present. I am afraid that I will not remember him, that we will “move on” too quickly.

Leaving the hospital on Monday was very hard for me. Samuel had been dead for several hours, and I knew that the body that lay in front of me was not him. It was his earthly body, but he wasn’t there. At the same time, I had the hardest time walking away from Samuel’s body and out of our CICU dock, 2112. I understand better now than I did then that much of the reason the parting was so hard for me was because the hospital was the only context in which we knew Samuel. We never knew him apart from ventilators, medicine trees, cerebral oximeters, vitals monitors, nurses, hand sanitizer, syringes, warming lights, constant beeps and dings, respiratory therapists, blood gas tests, blood, plasma, and hemoglobin transfusions, doctors, etc. I think that I was afraid that when I walked out, I would be leaving memories behind. In reality, I think that I did. That is hard.

The departure from that world (the hospital) and re-entry into this one (home) has only amplified this challenge. Now that we are home and there are two bedrooms filled and two car seats occupied in the mini van, everything is the way it was just 36 days ago. Honestly, I am frightened by how easy I can already slip back into the old routines, how easy it is at times to miss the significance of the empty nursery, the car seat sitting pointlessly on the floor of the garage, and the new photos all over our house. My awareness of this tendency makes it hard not to resent everything that does not remind me of Samuel. I do not want to forget him. I do not want the old normal back. I want Samuel back. Short of that, I want to remember him. I want to feel the loss, mourn his death, and leave the gap.

Of course, when I fear moving on too quickly and resolve to grieve Samuel’s death, my soul is taken to a place that is very different from the respite where it began. I quickly and willingly re-enter the sorrow of the loss of our son. I seem to feel more alive here. The challenge, however, is that the weight of our anguish is such that I cannot remain under it for long before crying out to God, wondering if this will ever go away, wondering if we’ll ever feel whole again from the battering that our souls have taken in the last month. In this way grief is relentless. In one moment, I am concerned that we are moving on too quickly and in the next that we won’t make it through this.

I say all of this with full conviction that God is good and faithful. I love and believe the words of Jesus that tell us that those who mourn are blessed because they will be comforted (Matt 5:4). My family – Kathy, Erik, Jen, Charlie, Grady, Marta, and Adam – all spent the day with us; they go home tomorrow. I made an intentional effort this morning to give myself permission to be “distracted” and enjoy my family. I know that that may sound funny, but it actually wasn’t easy. As I look back at my time with them, I see evidence of the Lord’s grace, kindness, and comfort. He gave us fun memories and many moments of joy. Though my faculties are insufficient to resolve this tension that I feel, I was reminded today that the grace of God is sufficient to see me through. I will trust in Him and in that.