“Is there an
end to the sadness and grief?” As I read my friend’s text, I paused. I wasn’t
sure if I could honestly answer. I am healed from the grief, that much is
clear, but is it ongoing?
I pondered the
question for quite some time. While doing so, my mind drifted back to the
previous week. Haden had been distracted and moody. I was on him several times
a day to stay on track and complete his school work. Tuesday it had come to a
head. As he headed out the door for his piano lesson, I wondered out loud how
prepared he would be since he had hardly practiced the previous week. On his
way home, I discovered just how unprepared he was. He called me in tears. “Mom,
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Ms. Tomi was worried about me and didn’t
even want me driving.”
“Why? What
happened?”
“I just
started crying,” he muttered through sobs. “I just miss daddy so much!” and
then the floodgates opened.
“Haden,
please, don’t do this now.” I was very concerned about my teenage son driving
while tears blinded his eyes. “Pull yourself together and wait until you get to
swim practice.” I listened as he gradually gained control over his emotions. “What
triggered this?”
He was silent
for a moment. “I just wish dad could see me swim. I didn’t even take swimming
seriously when he was alive.” There was catch in his throat. “I just wish he could see me now.”
How did I
respond to that? He was justified in feeling cheated and wanting his dad to see
the young man he has become. “Haden, Daddy was always proud of you no matter
what. It wasn’t your ability to swim or play the piano or anything else that
made him proud. It was your heart.”
Another pause.
“I know, but I have no one. I just want a dad here to watch me and cheer for
me. I know God’s my dad, but I can’t hear Him.”
We spoke a few
more minutes until he reached the interstate. “I love you, Haden.”
“I love you,
too.”
He reached
swim practice safely and he made it through this week and even through this
weekend and the swim meet he had so desperately wanted Woody to see. Today he
stood in church and worshipped whole-heartedly as the band played his favorite
worship song. One would never suspect the brokenness which had arrested him in
anguish only five days earlier.
Perhaps grief
is ongoing, even though we will heal and have healed. However, what death
steals from those left behind is a perpetual loss. Maybe that is what gives
grief its lasting power, although it becomes intermittent and less severe.
Those left behind learn to bear the burden with God’s loving assistance, and
eventually they learn to put it down. Possibly, that is the end to sadness and grief, when we completely relinquish our control to God. I really do not know, but I do know the losses my children will accumulate due to the death of their father will always be ongoing. To that there is no end.
