UNSPEAKABLE GRIEF

This was the chapter name that i'd just read from "Facing Your Giants" by Max Lucado

I had a dream last night. Thought its only a dream, its real enough to left me exhausted for the rest of the day. The pain was real. So was the tears.

I buried her with my own hand. She look peaceful.
It hurts still. alot alot alot and the tears just keep pouring.

I woke up crying. The pain still lingers. It seems like the new just hitted me yesterday only. Her laughters, joys, temper, sweetness still filled the air around.




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We like David , have two choices:
flee or face the giant.

The grave stirs such unspeakable hurt and unanswerable questions, we're tempted to turn and walk. Change the subject, avoid the issue. Work hard. Drink harder. Stay busy. Stay distant.

Yet we pay a high price when we do. Bereavement comes from the word reave. Look up reave in the dictionary, and you'll read "to take away by force, plunder, rob." Death robs you. The grave plunders moments and memories not yet shared: birthdays, vactions, lazy walks, talks over tea. You are bereaved because you've been robbed.

Normal is no more and never will be again. After the wife of C.S. Lewis died of cancer, he wrote, "Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything."

Just when you think the beast of grief is gone, you hear a song she loved or smell the cologne he wore or pass a restaurant where the two of you used to eat. The giant keeps showing up.
And the giant of grief keeps stirring up. Stirring up...

Anxiety. "Am i next?

Guilt. "Why did I tell him..." "Why didnt i say to her..."

Wistfulness. You see intact couples and long for your mate. You see parents with kids and yearn for your child.

The giant stirs up insomnia, loss of appetite, forgetfulness, thoughts of suicid. Grief is not a mental illness, but it sure feels like one sometimes.


Tears are the material out of which heaven weaves its brightest rainbow - F.B. Meyer


Rain are not just water that falls from the sky, they are the tears from heaven...