“Rejoice and be exceedingly glad” Matthew 5:12
When someone suffers a great loss—no matter what the
circumstances— they go through a grief cycle. Sometimes they follow the cycle
just as it is explained in many books, but most people go through these cycles in
waves that sometimes feel strange, or make them feel guilty for not being
“normal”.
I want to talk about a part of the grief cycle that is always
hard to admit. Mainly because it is a defense we want to shun. Relief.
When I sat on the couch the night of Emmett’s death—and those
detectives finally finished telling me stories of infidelity and murder—my
front door shut. My instincts told me to cry out in sadness, yell out in anger,
curl up in humiliation . . . but if I am going to be completely honest with
myself, my first wave wasn’t fear or pain or humiliation . . . it was
relief—relief that I wasn’t crazy. You see. When your spouse is having an
affair, they spend a lot of time in hiding—from you. You feel alone, and you
feel abandoned . . . usually never understanding why. All the while blaming
yourself for not being enough. Spending most of your time trying to change who
you think it is your spouse no longer desires.
So my first moment of peace was relief that I wasn’t crazy. In
that moment, I felt grateful to know that there was something really wrong . .
. that all those months I had spent feeling—and being told—I was crazy . . . were part of his hiding. All
those months I began to hate myself for not being someone else. All those
months I had searched—like any normal crazy person—for answers that I never
found. There really had been something wrong. I wasn't crazy!!!
I can’t say that wave of relief lasted long—or didn’t haunt me
for years as evidence as a reason I should hate the girl he left that night.
But it did come. And it was real. And what I wish I could go back and tell that
girl—who felt relieved in a moment where the world would tell her she should
feel sad—is. . . it’s ok. It was real, because the pain of the affair had hurt
for a long time, even though she had no clue. And it’s ok that for that first
split second—she felt grateful to know the truth. The truth can set you free—and
in that moment, it set me free from a version of crazy I had believed I had
become.
So sometimes—especially when a moment of trauma is so complex—we
have to give ourselves a break, and allow grief to find a voice. Sadness isn’t
always the first wave to come. And that has to be ok. If we want to heal, we
cannot shun the real feelings . . . even if they feel very strange.
Maybe your child has suffered since the day they born, and you
have carried the emotional, financial, and psychological toll of raising a
child with special needs through years of heart ache and tears. Maybe your loved
one has been stuck in the chains of addiction and you are finally given an
answer to divorce. Maybe you spent the last four years taking care of a spouse
with cancer—and as they took that last breath—you felt the weight of the burden
lift . . . and for a split second felt relieved to have such a taxing calling
end.
Whatever your journey was or is . . . there are going to be a
lot of emotions that come when you suffer a loss. Don’t give up on the girl or
boy who doesn’t feel them in the order the grief books told you—you would. Your
timetable isn’t something anyone has written in a book . . . it is yours.
It is a course that you get to navigate with God. So whatever
you are grieving . . . a loss that ended with death, a marriage that ended in
divorce—or something else that has come to a point that you have to say goodbye.
Grief is real.
Sometimes after a traumatic event—or a major loss—when the
holidays or special occasions come around, we feel like we don’t know how to
enjoy them. We get stuck between what we think we should be feeling and what we
want to feel. So this year . . . if you are scared to find joy this Christmas
because your story has felt broken and you find yourself trying to shun any emotion
that isn’t utter despair—how about you give yourself a day off from grieving
and just let light surround you. Not because you don’t have a million reasons
to hurt, but because you might still have some reasons to feel excitement,
happiness, peace . . . and even little glimmers of joy.
You
are still here. You are still worthy of grace. You are still capable of feeling
love. So smile today. Not because it is easy, but because you are worth it.
Loss
does not define you. Yes it does change you, it teaches you, and some days it
still hurts. But life keeps moving forward. You deserve happiness. And it is
still possible. So today, rejoice and be exceedingly glad for all the things
you still have—and simply, just for you.
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