Death changes the way we live.
Grief is a beast.
I write this post for me as I go through heavy emotions grieving the loss of my friend.
Today was thefuneral memorial service/celebration of life service.
This is supposed to be the farewell.
Now what?
The grief continues. The sadness. The anger.
I've been reading about the Five Stages of Grief:
"As the masking effects of denial and isolation begin to wear, reality and its pain re-emerge. We are not ready. The intense emotion is deflected from our vulnerable core, redirected and expressed instead as anger. The anger may be aimed at inanimate objects, complete strangers, friends or family. Anger may be directed at our dying or deceased loved one. Rationally, we know the person is not to be blamed. Emotionally, however, we may resent the person for causing us pain or for leaving us. We feel guilty for being angry, and this makes us more angry."
I never before knew I could be mad at someone for dying.
I don't envy the role of the pastor, as he was a friend of the deceased; yet, somehow he's expected to pull it together and offer comfort for everyone else. At one point today he shared about how God is with us when we walk through the valley. It is to be expected that we face struggles, and valleys and deserts. But it's important that we walk through them, rather than staying in them.
I don't know how much time is a reasonable or acceptable amount to feel this sadness. Or this anger.
There are so many unanswered questions as I try to grasp the events of the last few weeks and especially the last few days.
One thing I have learned is that it's ok to not know what to say. It's ok to not say anything. I've been giving comfort and receiving comfort. And it's better when we just keep words out of the way.
I told Josh this morning on the way to church that I didn't want to talk to anybody. I didn't want to face the question of "How are you?". I couldn't stay in the sanctuary. I literally lasted maybe 30 seconds. I listened to the sermon and the singing from the lobby. I wept. I received comfort. God put other people in that lobby who could cry with me, pray with me, hold me, and talk with me.
I've dealt with death before, but this one is affecting me on a whole new level. A very deep level.
A lot of questions. And they're ones that I will likely never know the answers to until I meet the Lord. His perspective is beyond ours. But I have to trust in the reminder from His Word: "And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose."
Grief is a beast.
I write this post for me as I go through heavy emotions grieving the loss of my friend.
Today was the
This is supposed to be the farewell.
Now what?
The grief continues. The sadness. The anger.
I've been reading about the Five Stages of Grief:
"As the masking effects of denial and isolation begin to wear, reality and its pain re-emerge. We are not ready. The intense emotion is deflected from our vulnerable core, redirected and expressed instead as anger. The anger may be aimed at inanimate objects, complete strangers, friends or family. Anger may be directed at our dying or deceased loved one. Rationally, we know the person is not to be blamed. Emotionally, however, we may resent the person for causing us pain or for leaving us. We feel guilty for being angry, and this makes us more angry."
I never before knew I could be mad at someone for dying.
I don't envy the role of the pastor, as he was a friend of the deceased; yet, somehow he's expected to pull it together and offer comfort for everyone else. At one point today he shared about how God is with us when we walk through the valley. It is to be expected that we face struggles, and valleys and deserts. But it's important that we walk through them, rather than staying in them.
I don't know how much time is a reasonable or acceptable amount to feel this sadness. Or this anger.
There are so many unanswered questions as I try to grasp the events of the last few weeks and especially the last few days.
One thing I have learned is that it's ok to not know what to say. It's ok to not say anything. I've been giving comfort and receiving comfort. And it's better when we just keep words out of the way.
I told Josh this morning on the way to church that I didn't want to talk to anybody. I didn't want to face the question of "How are you?". I couldn't stay in the sanctuary. I literally lasted maybe 30 seconds. I listened to the sermon and the singing from the lobby. I wept. I received comfort. God put other people in that lobby who could cry with me, pray with me, hold me, and talk with me.
I've dealt with death before, but this one is affecting me on a whole new level. A very deep level.
A lot of questions. And they're ones that I will likely never know the answers to until I meet the Lord. His perspective is beyond ours. But I have to trust in the reminder from His Word: "And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose."
