Introduction
No person who travels the agonizing road of grief, finds cut-and-dried answers to commonly asked questions. Those who have already been down the road cannot speak directly to another’s unique grief. Each situation is different, yet holds a thread of commonality—soul-ripping agony and an opportunity for choices.
Though I cannot imagine any grief greater than my own at the present time, an attempt by one to compare "griefs" is truly a waste of time. Each experience must be handled in light of its uniqueness. Love seems to draw individuals outward to the beauty of the world around them, while grief seems to turn persons inward, obscuring the ability to observe beauty. Life can look and feel totally barren. The past can become a place to which one wants to retreat and nestle. The future becomes an unappealing, frightening place to be avoided, resulting in little desire to plan, ponder, or approach life and the living. Yet, the present continues to loom in the darkness with questions related to, "What do I do now?" "This moment is all I have, and I must deal with its reality."
My advice to the griever is, "Do not lose hope." God will provide you with the strength to put one foot in front of the other. On some days forward movement will appear impossible, hopeless, and all-consuming, but the struggle is not in vain. The path before you has been paved by countless people who have lost loved ones. The path is well worn and has been explored from every angle. Though perilous, the path is passable. By passable, I mean that the experience is survivable. Though the pain will never totally fade, its intensity will subside to a degree. The raw emotion in your voice when you call your loved one’s name will soften. The deep, soul-piercing, oozing wounds will begin to scab over. The flood of tears will begin to subside. The hollowness will become more subtle. A tiny spark of joy will suddenly emerge out of the blue. At the most unexpected time, a chuckle will slip forth. The sun will occasionally peek from behind the clouds. The fear will fade bit by bit, ever so slowly.
Do not expect to be the same person you were before the loss. Accept the fact that you and your life are forever changed. Whether you change for the better or worse remains to be seen. Whether you will choose to honor the memory of your special one or whether you dishonor that memory by anger, hopelessness or negative behaviors also remains to be seen. We grievers want immediate answers and direction, but discernment only comes by gingerly, slowly feeling one’s way along the thorny path. No real "how to" books exist to direct your passage across the chasm. Books do exist, however, to prevent one’s feeling of aloneness in the sea of grief. The Bible is the standard.
My advice to bystanders is to stand by your griever—in person and in spirit. Do not expect anything from the one grieving. That person just has nothing to offer. The griever needs to be filled by your individual strength and the strength of our Lord. Do not say, "If you need me, call." The grieved do not have the energy to call and voice their needs. They are utilizing all their energies to just barely keep breathing and barely keep walking. The mortally wounded have joined the ranks of the walking wounded.
No one particularly wants to subject himself/herself to a griever. The experience is not pleasant, but downright painful. If you are a friend, though, or a loved one, you need to be there. If ever there is a time you need to just be there, it is now. Your presence can help cushion or absorb the pain and buffer the aloneness. To have another person experience some of the pain personally is beneficial for the griever. By all means, call the name of the one missing from this realm of experience. Pain intensifies when others try to ignore or pretend to forget the one you are missing with your entire heart and soul. Healing will be slow, erratic, and painful. As the griever’s supporter, be patient and force yourself to be a person willing to seek to understand—you will not understand, but seek—and share in the painful experience of the griever.
Numerous articles have been written for bystanders about what not to say. People often have a propensity to speak volumes or seek to offer some "profound" statement. Think carefully before you speak. Actually, the less said may be better. I recommend gentle presence, light touch, and listening with ears and heart; conversation should be kept to a minimum. The bystander should be quietly present and powerless along side the griever.
As stated before, an easy path is nonexistent. The griever must hold tightly to the promises from God and believe. Even if you cannot fully voice your beliefs, just believe—just do it! We are powerless, but He is powerful. A transfusion of His power into this shattered vessel is needed. We are weak but He is strong.
Francis of Assisi said, "Start by doing what’s necessary; then do what’s possible, and suddenly you are doing the impossible."1 This statement was not in reference to grief, but I applied it to my experience. For me, getting out of bed and taking a shower became necessary. As time progressed, I could look at Madison’s picture without bursting into tears. I eventually reached out at work to another person in need. Then before I realized what had happened, I was doing what previously seemed impossible—living life! I was glancing reluctantly toward the future, remembering my Madison’s laugh with a gentle smile rather than a gut-wrenching pain. She is not forgotten; she is now remembered daily and forevermore.
My heart’s desire is that "something" shared, no matter how small, may offer comfort, hope, or a morsel of camaraderie for someone who is experiencing their own encounter with grief. Though all experiences are different, sharing firsthand knowledge is some small consolation. All persons will face grief at some point in their journey through life. May my ultimate Hope, expressed in a faith in Jesus Christ, spark at least one tiny ray of sunshine for a fellow traveler?
A second (more selfish) reason for writing is that I want someone (anyone) to feel a twinge of my loss, my pain, my emotion, my love and maybe say, "Oh, I’m going to give someone a hug today before it’s too late." Also, I want at least one stranger to read about Madison and peer into her eyes and say, "Wow, I believe she just might have been a little angel!"
An oft-uttered sentence prayer has been, "Lord, give me the strength to face another day; let me not turn coward before its difficulties or prove recreant to its duties."2 Strength has been provided. I am searching for the courage to continue living a productive life.
My favorite scene from the movie, "The Passion of the Christ," is the one where Mary, mother of Jesus, sensed His presence beneath the stone floor and slowly lowered her body to the floor. The feeling of "infused" strength and love shared from above and beneath the floor touched my heart. A picture of this scene hangs on my bedroom wall and has been a constant reminder of the fact that "The Lord is my refuge and my strength."