Reflections on Grief

One thing I wanted to know when I started out on my grief journey was: "What is this going to look like years later?" I couldn't picture myself or my family happy and functioning again, but I also couldn't imagine staying in the state of pain we were in forever. Obviously it is going to be different for everyone, but here's an update (5 1/2 years later) for anyone wondering the same thing and for myself to look back on some day.

This week, my breath caught and my stomach clenched when I was passed by a Subaru Ascent on the road, a mid size SUV my husband and I were looking at purchasing before my son passed away. I was driving the RAV4 we purchased instead, a compact SUV that has plenty of room for the three of us. I have no idea why the Ascent has stuck in my mind as a representation of what my family could have looked like and what it does look like, but it gets me almost every time I notice one. 

This week, I made some plans for the summer and dreamed about where some furniture will go in our house in the UP when we move up there permanently. I researched homeschool curriculum for next year and guided my daughter through the homeschool curriculum we are doing right now. 

A sketch my daughter made of a picture
I shared on here last week.

I taught a couple of writing classes, belly laughed with my family, held hands with my husband, walked the dog, exercised, played some card games, and read for pleasure. I had a hard time waking up because it is still so dark in the mornings. I caught a case of the Febuarys and was a little grumpy.

This week's Bible study was about suffering. I still would rather avoid the topic. The loss of Oliver eclipses all the other suffering I have experienced in my life and makes it hard to complete the study questions without becoming repetitive. I also resist attempts to explain the reasons why we suffer. An answer that the human mind can come up with and understand never feels sufficient for the loss of a child. My grief was stirred again, and although I know that stirred grief is a good thing, I resist.

Despite my resistance, I took some time to reflect. The final question of the week's study asked: "How has God transformed your life and faith in Him through suffering?" I took a deep breath, prayed, thought about what I had discovered through that week's homework and wrote:

He has drawn me closer to Him, given me confidence in Him and His promises, set my focus on heaven, and made me dependent on Him and aware of my weaknesses and His strength, which has broken through my perfectionism in a way nothing else has, allowing me to praise Him as Savior in humble obedience and rely on Him to provide the patient endurance and sharing of my testimony He calls me to.

I ran across these pictures of my sister and Oliver while looking for 
something else.

I enjoyed good food. I stayed inside after an ice storm and was unbothered by, and even relished, the change in plans. I enjoyed an evening alone while my daughter was at youth group and my husband was out of town for work.

While hanging out with friends, the conversation around the dinner table turned to grown-up boys and legos. I still don't want to talk about legos. I can hear the sound of them being played in my house every time it comes up in conversation, and it still makes me feel so sad.

The reality is, I still miss Oliver and deal with grief, but most of my days and weeks look and feel pretty normal. A normal I never would have thought possible five and a half years ago when every breath hurt, participating in everyday activities was challenging, and the most basic things like eating, sleeping, talking, and dreaming of the future had taken a back seat to enduring the next ten minutes. A normal I never would have thought possible three years ago when I was dealing with a lot of fear, a few good grief days in a row just meant I was due for a bad day, and I didn't like being alone. I thank God for patiently leading me, for the healing I have experienced, and the healing still to come.