Monday morning, I heard about the tragic death of a young lady. I was immediately shattered and reeling for this family.
And so another mother grieves.
I drove to her house and hugged her and held her tight for a minute and cried.
She said “The Lexington Cemetery? You’ve found comfort there?”
I said, “Yes!”
I asked her if she wanted to see some recent photos from there and she did, so I showed her these Spring photos at the cemetery. And then I showed her the statue above of the angel weeping.
Loss. She knows I know. And that’s why I went to give her a hug.
This knowing I’m talking about-the mental sorrow that causes physical pain, the overwhelming feeling of despair, the tears, the fatigue and physical weakness, the nausea that won’t go away, the shaking.
This knowing. It’s the waking every morning and having to relive the news of death, the realization that she’s gone, of doing this over and over until it finally sinks in. It’s the waking up several times throughout the night too, of not being able to sleep.
This knowing. It’s the absence of someone who shouldn’t be gone. Losing a child messes with order. Old people die. Young people just aren’t supposed to die.
This knowing. It’s looking around your house and seeing her everywhere, except she’s nowhere to be found… ever again…
…Until heaven.
Now a couple days later…Tonight, their church family gathered for a time of lament for the family, and I attended. These people wanted and needed to be together–this death of a daughter affects them all.
They read and sang and prayed together. Although an outsider, I didn’t feel like an outsider. It was not impromptu; everything was planned in advance.
I especially appreciated the prayer that stated the family’s grief wouldn’t be over in a few months, that they were starting a life long journey and needed to learn how to support the family through it.
At this point, I thought, oh my God. yes! I couldn’t hold back the tears. I am thankful this family will be supported well, even if the church is going in blind. They admitted as much and some of the readings chosen were from those who had lost a child or children.
The pastor ended by encouraging the people to get together. To not mourn alone. I love this about this community. I grabbed the hand beside me and squeezed. We were not weeping alone. I had gone to her house the night before because I didn’t want to be alone. And I joined in with the church tonight because I didn’t want to be alone.
Grief can be lonely.
grieving with guinever 