Seeking the Courage to Embrace Grief

Today has been our first day without company (my mom doesn't count -- she is here for another week or so), and I can already feel the difference. I think with so many people in and out of our house, there have been distractions upon distractions, and there hasn't been a chance for Samuel's death to really sink in. There was always something ahead of me to get through (like the funeral) or someone who was coming to see us, and it wasn't normal life at all, so Samuel's absence didn't seem so real. At every quiet moment, there was someone to sit down and keep company (which I enjoyed since it was my family who I love dearly and one of my best friends, Mandie), but it meant that I never dwelled in the truth that Samuel is gone. I didn't have to think about it for long because there was something else to focus on. That is starting to change.

I can feel grief beginning to close in on me. I can feel it approaching. The air in my house is heavier today that it was last week (with the exception of August 31 -- the day on which Samuel died). Grief's presence is almost audible for me -- it's no longer lurking in outer corners but creeping ever closer and starting to surround me. Sorrow is in my throat and tugging on my heart. It's waiting patiently (or perhaps not so patiently) for me to face it and embrace it.

But the truth is, I've been hiding from grief pretty actively the last week. I know this is all still brand new in the grand scheme of things, and I need to give myself time and grace to feel all the sadness of Samuel's death, but I also know I've been trying to cheat this past week. I've sought distraction in company and in the computer. I've been looking on our blog, my inbox, and facebook for someone to say something that could tide me over until the next person's comment -- for some sort of solace that would protect me from engaging the sorrow. And instead of letting God be my comfort and my rock, I have looked for people to fill my void. But I know this is an empty pursuit, and I have already seen the exhaustion of chasing comfort instead of turning in to the grief and allowing God to meet me there.

And honestly, even in my efforts to ameliorate this pain, I haven't been able to escape it. Late at night when I finally lay my head on my pillow, all the memories come flooding in, and sleep eludes me. When I want to close my eyes and find the peace of forgetfulness in sleep, that is when I can't stop thinking about Samuel -- about all he suffered and endured in his short life, about watching him die a slow death, about holding his synthetically paralyzed body while he faded away, about how his body was unrecognizeable from the beautiful boy he was when he came out of my womb, about the smell of death that clung to him his last week of life, about the constant beeps and dings and alarms that would make our hearts jump. In the still moments, I am bombarded by the pain we witnessed and endured.

I look back on that month in the hospital, and I cannot believe we survived it. There is no way we could have done so without the grace of God. And we not only survived it, we had unspeakable peace through it. How I see God's grace and presence when I replay all the stress-inducing elements of hospital life. I am in awe of how the Lord carried us through. I am amazed that He even granted us joy in those days -- that mostly when I think of my time by Samuel's bed, I think of ENJOYING him. That is a gift from God, for it would have been so natural to spend the whole month in anxiety and fear, with our stomachs in constant knots and unceasing tears streaming down our faces. And though we certainly experienced fear and tears, the predominate emotion I remember is joy. Thank you, Jesus, for blessing us with Your peace and Your joy! Bryan and I can take no credit for that -- You alone are the giver of such gifts.

I guess the short of it is this: I know I will have to walk through grief if I hope to come out of this pain as a whole and well person, sincerely trusting God and praising Him. But it will take incredible courage to truly embrace what is before me. I can see the temptation to try and just tiptoe around the periphery of grief and only dip my finger in the waters when I am willing to shed a few tears and then keep on my merry way. But I need to submerge myself in this new life and experience it fully, without shame, and let GOD be my rescuer and comfort. I need to let Him wash over me with His grace in this new part of my journey, and I need to do so again and again. This won't be a short jaunt. I can't spend a night in misery and then think I've faced it all and can now start about my life as usual. I have to be patient with myself and with God, with my sons and with my husband, and I have to let God heal me in His perfect time, with me a willing follower of His perfect leading.

It will take courage to evaluate how honestly I am walking the road of grief, but I am asking God to grant me the eyes to see clearly and not be deceived. I am asking God to give me discernment into my own heart and how fully I am depending on Him. I am asking Him to give my friends the clarity to identify my evasion tactics and the boldness to ask the questions I need to hear. I want to be the woman God wants me to be both through this process and years down the road as I tell my story that is part of His story. May God do in me whatever it is He wants to do. Lord, grant me the heart to accept Your will and Your refinement; "create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me" (Psalm 51:10).