Queen Elizabeth said, “Grief is the price we pay for love.” One author noted, “Grief and love are conjoined, you don’t get one without the other.” Grief is a normal, natural part of losing someone you love. However, it’s not a place you want to stay or get stuck. It is a valley we pass through, a process of healing and recovery which takes time.
After burying my father recently on my birthday, I compare grief to a thief that sneaks up on you at unexpected moments. Grief tries to steal your attention, joy, sleep, and peace of mind. Tears can be triggered instantly by a sight, a sound, a smell, a song, or a memory that pops up out of nowhere. You can be perfectly fine one minute and completely fall apart the next. Several people consoled me saying it was terrible to have to bury my dad on my birthday. I was okay with it because it was one of the last things I could do for him. After all he had done for me, it was my high honor to return a small favor.
I am so grateful I was able to be with my father when he passed on August 13th. He lived 600 miles away in Tampa where I was born and raised. We had recently celebrated his 94th birthday at a family reunion in Orlando back in May. We weren’t sure how much more time he had left, so we drove down to Florida in July to spend a few days with him. When we heard of his rapid decline, me and my five siblings flew or drove to Tampa from five different states.
When we arrived on Tuesday, August 11th, we were surprised to see dad was coherent and he recognized us. So, we were hopeful he would bounce back and pull through. Then he had a rough night, and by the next morning, it was obvious he was dying. As we lingered around his bedside, hospice nurses came and went, a chaplain came and prayed, men from his church prayer group visited and prayed. A musical therapist played a guitar and sang several old Gospel hymns dad used to lead at our church where we grew up. It was a special time as God’s peace and presence permeated the room. We tried our best to sing along through a river of tears.
All day long we kept a vigil at his side. Same story the next day. Hour upon hour we watched dad breathe, hoping for any signs of recovery. Nothing but shallower and slower breathing. Thursday night (August 13th) rolled around, and I began to tell him goodnight, that I loved him, and I began to pray something like, “Lord, dad is Your child and You know what is best for him. We know You are able to raise him up and restore him back to health or You can take him on home so he doesn’t suffer anymore. We release him into Your hands. Your kingdom come, Your will be done. . .” The whole prayer may have lasted a minute or two, but before I could say amen, dad gently breathed his last breath and slipped into eternity.
We had a Daystar program playing on the TV beside his bed. He loved this particular show called “Reflections,” and often watched it while he ate breakfast as his morning devotion. It features gorgeous scenery, soft Gospel music, and Scriptures superimposed on the screen. Moments before dad’s last breath, I noticed the song softly playing on the TV, “Swing low sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home . . . I looked over Jordan and what did I see . . . a band of angels coming after me, coming for to carry me home . . .” I was struck by the perfect timing. Then, right after dad drifted off into heavenly peace, I looked up and saw a Scripture pop up on the screen. It was Jesus’ pledge to the thief on the cross, “I promise that today you will be with Me in paradise” (Lk. 23:43). What a perfect passage for that specific moment! Some may say it was just a coincidence, but I will always believe it was Providence, God’s subtle way of confirming His presence with us and dad’s transfer to glory.
I’ve preached hundreds of funerals in over thirty years of pastoral work, but it feels totally different when it’s your dad lying in the casket. Thankfully, God gave me and others the grace to give him a fitting tribute with full military honors. The toughest moment came during the visitation time. We had the mortician put dad’s fabric phone holster on his belt that he always wore. We had a long-running family joke that “God was on the throne, and dad was on the phone.” Dad was a hardware business owner for over 60 years, so he spent a lot of time calling suppliers, customers, and colleagues. As I placed his phone in the holster in the casket with him, a wave of grief hit me as I suddenly realized we’d never be able to call or text him again. The weekly calls and daily texts were over and the family texting threads with dad’s phone number in them would go silent.
It’s been over a month now as life goes on. I have sensed the Holy Spirit’s comfort surround me like a warm blanket. I am happy for dad and so relieved he is no longer suffering. I find peace in knowing he is with Jesus enjoying all the blessings of heaven. Yet it still doesn’t diminish the fact that it hurts to let him go. There is a lingering emptiness, an internal ache, a void in our hearts from missing this great man we all loved so dearly.
Grief is defined as “keen mental suffering, distress, or sorrow over affliction or loss.” Author Jamie Anderson expressed, “Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is love with no place to go.” Grief is the absence of presence, the hole left behind by the pain of loss. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith; it’s the price of love. Author Stephen Levine wrote, “Loss is the absence of something we were once attached to. Grief is the rope burns left behind, when that which is held is pulled beyond our grasp.”
Again, grief is natural, normal, and necessary. Just don’t let grief be a thief that paralyzes you to the point where you can’t function. Don’t allow grief to turn into despair. Keep looking to the future with faith, not fear. God is with you. “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Ps. 34:18, NASB). Besides, we could never know God as our Comforter unless we experience seasons of sorrow when we need His comfort. Grief is a thief but God is the cop who can arrest it and give us peace.