A Window into my Grief Journey

 (I wrote this days ago....TODAY is the anniversary. A beautiful day of Thanksgiving preparation!)

It will be here soon. The anniversary - can I even call it something so positive sounding??- of my in-law’s death. I hate that day with a passion.

Just in case you have never had the job of telling the person in your life that you love the most that his or her parents have both been killed in a car accident, I don’t recommend it. It was the most heart-wrenching moment of my entire life. In my family, I found out first because Paul was at school and had no cell phone. In the moment of my greatest weakness, I had work to do. I had to call friends who were local, friends who were far, call my husband’s work and lie about why I needed him to come home as soon as he had arrived. I had to call his 15 year old sister, who didn’t know what had happened yet and tell her that everything was fine because I didn’t know if she was alone or not. What a horrible day. What a freaking horrible day. The next morning my precious husband slept until 9:30 am, definitely a record for that early riser. I remember watching my phone ring over and over and just letting it go because I wanted my husband to sleep. I didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep that well again. When he woke up, we threw clothes together in a bag, and got on the road by lunchtime. The week we spent in Sonora flew by. We were held up so incredibly, selflessly, and flawlessly by our community. So many details stand out to me, but the place my mind was had to be chaos. I’m sure most of the family felt this way, maybe worse, but this is my story. I was confused, lost, and shocked. Absolutely shocked.

     My Mother-in-law, Doni, was a dear friend of mine. I asked my husband last night just before I fell asleep, "remind me what your mom told you after I left California the week I met her." He whispered in my ear, "I love her like she came from my own womb." I am not saying that I am her daughter, or am grieving the same way as the children- my heart grieves for the pain they all feel. I am saying that I lost more than a mother-in-law. I lost one of my best friends, definitely my greatest encourager and prayer covering, and the "Nana" that my children absolutely adored and loved [and their Opa too]. Slowly, slowly the months crept on after I had lost them and I thought I had handled the grieving season well. I don’t think that my life really began to disintegrate until 4 or 5 months after the accident. I have never been in such a dark place in my life. Panic attacks became my norm. Eating disorders. Irrational fear over everything. Depression like I had never known. Dear Jesus, I don’t even know how I crawled out from that place. I was afraid to love, afraid to feel, and afraid to trust God. I was in a culture where people who had faced similar circumstances to what I had known now were saying, “God is good.”

But I couldn’t lift my hands to Him. That’s my story.

         I was angry. I didn’t trust Him with anything and the burden of control was crippling. I remember one day God telling me, “If you can’t worship, could you speak in tongues?” So I did that for Sundays on end. I would just get on my knees and speak in tongues. Sometimes I felt NOTHING. Worship would continue and I would open my  heart little by little. My soul was so broken before Him and I remember thinking that I was just worshiping by faith at this point. I didn’t feel like worshiping. I didn’t feel like feeling. I did it anyway. Slowly I commanded that place of brokenness to take refuge in God. I didn’t feel anything changing, I didn’t feel myself slipping into His grip. I didn’t feel safe. I just decided along the way that either this precious family that was stolen from me was going to ruin my life, or I could just maybe choose truth. Choose to worship. Choose to do scary things-like drive on the interstate, get on an airplane, put pictures up of Doni and Wolf in my home- and trust God to carry me. I chose to let God get into that place in my heart that I didn’t want anybody or anything to touch, ever again. After awhile, I found myself lifting hands in worship and telling God, “I don’t feel you, but I do love you. I don’t trust you right now, but I do need you.” Along the way my depression began to lift, and life began to make sense again. I took time to enjoy my family. I started choosing joy. One day I was making breakfast, playing with the kids and it dawned on me, “I’m happy again. I’m back.” Not that grief wasn’t still part of my life, I just tamed all the uncertainty. I asked God, “How did I make it through that season without regular, professional help?” (I probably NEEDED more help, but didn’t have access to it because of finances and such a busy lifestyle with the children! Thank God for dear friends who had walked through grief themselves!) but God showed me a picture of myself in worship, surrendered. So surrendered. David told his soul to worship God. I realized that’s simply what I had done, even when I didn’t feel anything happening in my heart I still chose to go to God.

This song is new around Bethel, so I hear it a lot. It wrecks me. Take time to listen if you'd like:




I feel like I’ve been able to track my progress in grief by how I respond to this song. Last night, this song played during worship and I danced. I love this song. I cried some, laughed some, and thanked Jesus for His sacrifice. I know that I know that I know where Wolf and Doni are now. I asked God to show me a picture of their grave because I wanted to dance over it. And to me, their grave does not represent death, but my pain. I wanted to dance over my pain, not just for my beautiful Savior who has never let me go, but for my soul to know how far it has come on this journey. During my early grief season, I really feared losing my husband, my children, my parents…anyone that I loved. I can’t say I have won this battle completely, but I will, because I have a revelation of the power of the cross. I know what it means for death to lose its sting. I know Doni and Wolf are alive. I know my God is good, kind, and mighty to save.  I also know that the sting of death doesn’t own me. Grief doesn’t own me.

I am still sad. I call it ‘enduring sadness.’ It’s there, especially this week. I torture myself with thoughts like, I can’t believe I haven’t talked to Doni in a year. It breaks my heart into a million pieces. Now, I acknowledge that pain and take it to God. God, I miss her. I’m hurting. I feel Him now. I hear Him speak. There’s not panic in His voice, or pain, or fear- He’s eternity minded. He knows where she is, He knows she’s safe. It reminds me of when my kids cry about a monster in their closet and as parents we KNOW there is nothing to fear. Or Sonora who cries about an ‘owie’ and we as parents expose it nonchalantly as a smidgeon of dirt. “Oh,” she says, "it's not an ‘owie’!" His perspective is so necessary to get through this season. It has saved me. This isn’t specific wisdom for grief. It’s just where I’ve come from, and where I am now. Jesus has carried me through this like I never knew possible, even when I didn't know I was being carried.

      If you are going through a grief journey, whatever you are doing to get through is normal. That was the most practical advice that I received from others who have walked this path: God is ok with you’re journey, you should be ok with it too. This is all assuming you are allowing yourself to grieve. Just do it. I found myself continuously caught up in the conundrum of grieving and wanting to live as if my days were numbered, which meant I didn't want to be depressed and lazy. Ugh. I just had to let it go. Somewhere in the exhaustion, pain, sleeplessness, and confusion is a glimpse of hope- it’s your own life. You’re still here. Take a deep breath, and live. Above else, what I’ve learned about grief is that Life. Goes. On. And we’re all blessed for it.