The Cloak of
Sorrow
One of the authors we have recently read describes a “cloak
of sorrow” that comes over people who are grieving. It seems to come suddenly, quietly, and consistently
during the first weeks, especially when I am transitioning – out of a meeting,
off a phone call, out of my office – I simply become aware, almost
instantaneously, that I have lost my son and am very sad.
Sometimes it almost seems like I am simply remembering this
loss as I shift my mental focus away from a conversation or thought that I have
been wrapped up in. I leave a meeting,
step into an elevator to go back to my office, and all of a sudden I have this
sense of surprise or shock as I remember Daniel and the fact that he has left
this earth.
This moment of remembering – and continuing to feel shocked
as that recognition comes into my consciousness – is then followed by this
numbing sadness – this very strong pull toward feeling sorrow, a sense of
despair, or even depression, not knowing how I can go on or ever feel whole or
even find a sense of hope again.
As summer is drawing to a close, our kids are in their final
full week of summer vacation and all of Daniel’s friends are headed to college
over the next few weeks. These transitions
also are bringing sorrow to us, as we often are reminded of what Daniel is
missing – beginning his second year at Whitworth, taking more classes from
Jerry Sittser and others, diving deeper into his Young Life leadership
experience, and continuing to form rich relationships with so many great kids
and professors.
August 22, 2008
“Softened” through
Loss
A young friend commented on her blog that it seems to her
that families often appear to be “soft and wise” after they experience deep
loss. I am not sure when wisdom comes
(if ever), though I would agree that significant loss can open one’s eyes to
what is important, illuminating a whole new perspective on life, and perhaps in
some sense this illumination might be perceived by others as wisdom.
The “soft” element, though, is beginning to make total sense
to me. Loss indeed softens one’s heart
if you follow the sadness and allow it to penetrate the layers of psychological
and spiritual defenses that most of us spend much of our lives
accumulating. Loss can function just
like a meat tenderizer – it is breaking down my emotional and spiritual
toughness (analogous to the outer layer of a tough piece of meat) and exposing my
most vulnerable and fragile inner self (as in the nice, soft, juicy core of
that steak).
Put another way, losing a son has “broken my heart” which
includes breaking through and breaking down a lot of accumulated
“toughness”. A broken heart, perhaps, is
actually a gift in that it returns us to a simpler, innocent state from which,
perhaps, we can begin to feel again many of the “simple” pleasures in our lives
and relationships.
I pray that God is tenderizing and softening me through this
horrific experience of losing a son.
August 24, 2008
Cosmic Questions
For example, whether it is in conversation with a very
conservative Christian friend or family member, or, a casual acquaintance whose
religious faith is not even clearly known to us, Carol and I have had several
conversations in the past few months where we have heard comments like these:
- “God has a plan and taking Daniel now was part of it.”
- “Daniel was so ready to go – God didn’t need to keep him on earth anymore.”
- “We can’t understand God’s timing, but we can be assured that God is in control, so Daniel dying somehow was “meant to be” (predestined by) God.”
- (Another recent comment from a friend whose family is going through a crisis with a member suffering from cancer) – “God is calling us to experience this crisis and probable loss so that we can help others who have similar experiences.”
None of these questions are new, nor is this linear,
rational philosophical/theological approach new or innovative. My cursory reading and understanding of
Western philosophy and Christian theology illustrates that this approach – God
(or Fate) being in control, so that when we suffer loss, there must be “a
reason” and God must be in the middle of that reason – seems to follow the
pattern of cause and effect, a rationalism that allows us to discern (reason
out) what God is up to and thus, how we should respond.
Besides this desire to see the cause and effect behind the
bad (or good) things that happen to us, there seems to be implied in this logic
the notion that faithful people must “accept” bad things happening because,
after all, God is in control and you don’t really want to question His judgment
regarding what happens, do you? Once this reasoning is accepted, the next
implication that closely follows seems to be – “get over ‘it’ – the emotional
sense of loss or grief – because you don’t want to cry over what God has
ordained for you, do you?”
I am intrigued with how much of this whole cycle of thinking
is looking backward – trying to figure out and answer what we think is the most
profound question of our lives – “why?”
At this stage of my grief, I seem to be more comfortable not
even asking that question. I am begrudgingly
at peace with the notion that Daniel’s death may be completely random – a deer
jumped in front of a car and the driver lost control leading to an “accident”
that ultimately caused my son’s death.
That event occurred and perhaps was completely random and resulting from
the general “chaos” of the universe. I
am not at all happy about it and I am deeply grieving my son’s death. And, though this chaotic event happened and I
am experiencing enormous pain as a result, I can continue to have faith in God
and in his ultimate mercy on my son, myself, my family, and others, to the
point that I can have some ultimate peace, believing that Daniel is “in a
better place” and that I will see him again someday.
In the meantime, I will grieve my loss of Daniel for as long
as I am now separated from him in this life and I will not be happy about the
chaotic, random accident that led to his death.
All that said – the real question seems to be, what am I
going to choose to do with Daniel’s death in terms of how I will live out my
life going forward? How will I carry or
incorporate this loss and grief into my life in a way that will be redemptive and
life giving to myself, my family, and everyone I come in contact with?
To me the question is not so much why did God do this to me,
if even He did, but rather, what will I do with this loss to live more fully
and redemptively with my family, friends, neighbors, colleagues, and the world?
And, please don’t tell me, or even insinuate to me that I
will or should ever “get over” this type of loss, because I cannot imagine a
more insulting thing to say or think about a person so beloved as my son.
