Several months after my mom died, my sister sent me a “New Dawn” climbing rose from a mail-order nursery.
I’m not a rose expert, so I’m sort of winging it with this plant. It should probably get more sun than it does, and I’m not quite sure how to make it climb the trellis properly.
Can I cheat a little? Well, actually a lot? This month I’m not sharing the usual four somethings, but rather a year-end recap of all sorts of things. I’m still linking up with Heather Gerwing, though, because it’s all done in the spirit of her wonderful Share Four Somethings linkup.
Years ago, when part of my work involved writing book reviews, I read a business book called Now, Discover Your Strengths. Written by Gallup Organization researchers Don Clifton and Marcus Buckingham, this bestseller asserts that the most effective way to motivate people is to develop their strengths rather than correct their weaknesses.
I don’t remember much else about the book, but the title has been a guiding light over the years, particularly when it comes to my girls’ education. I’ve encouraged them in areas of struggle, of course, but I’ve tried to focus more on helping them grow in areas where they seem especially gifted or skilled.
During the first session of a new grief support group, the leader asked us to hold our index fingers out in front of us so we could see our fingerprints. He was emphasizing the fact that, just as every fingerprint is unique, so is each person’s journey through grief.
I didn’t have my reading glasses with me that night, so I actually couldn’t see my own fingerprint right in front of me.
This ironic twist didn’t negate the truth of what the leader was saying, of course. But it did add another layer to his illustration—one that I’ve pondered quite a bit since then.
When grief is raw and fresh, for however long that lasts, it’s hard to see the forest for the trees.
Whether it’s exhaustion, sadness, anger, a lack of motivation or a combination of these and other factors, deep loss can make it tough to put one foot in front of the other, let alone have hope that better days could ever be ahead.
We might hear or read words like, “This too shall pass,” or “You won’t always feel this way,” but even if we understand intellectually that these thoughts are probably true, they might not take root in the soil of our sorrowful hearts.
It is possible, however, that hard-fought wisdom about grief from friends or trusted experts can serve as a lifeline or a light at the end of the tunnel for us as we work our way through our sadness.
Just as I knew my fingerprint was there even though I couldn’t see it, we can hold on to certain things about grieving that we haven’t experienced yet because people we trust have told us they are true, helpful or simply worth remembering.
For example, soon after my mom died, I received a sympathy card from a good friend who had lost both of her parents. In a sweet personal note, she encouraged me to give myself grace as I grieved.
At that point, I was still in machine mode—trying to wrap my head around my mom’s death while also managing care for my dad as he rapidly declined—and I didn’t really understand what she was talking about. Later, though—after both my parents were gone and all the regrets and what-ifs were keeping me up at night on a regular basis—her words came back to me with all the comfort she had intended.
From another friend’s journey, I learned (and later experienced myself) that grief and joy can co-exist, and that it will likely always be this way until we cross over to heaven’s shore.
Then there was a comment the facilitator of my GriefShare group made that lodged itself in my soul like the promise of spring. “When the grief softens,” she said, “the memories grow warmer.”
It’s true, what she said. The sadness might never go away completely, but now when I think of my parents, I’m more inclined to be thankful for all the years we had together and the influence they had on my life. The grief has softened, and the warm memories are a blessing.
Finally, at some point after my mom died—maybe a month, maybe a year, I can’t remember—I read an Instagram caption that said something like, “My mom’s been gone for 20 years and I still think about her every day.”
I don’t know whether or not this will be the case for me. But reading those words helped me understand that I probably had a long road of sadness ahead of me. That I was under no obligation to “get over” losing my parents on a certain schedule. And that it’s perfectly normal to miss your mom long after she’s gone to heaven.
I don’t know where you find yourself today. I sincerely hope your holiday season has been full of joy and peace.
But if your heart is reeling from a recent loss, exhausted from a few years of grief or even overwhelmed by a resurgence of sadness from a long-ago loss, I’ll tell you the same thing my friend told me after my mom died: Give yourself grace this Christmas.
There’s no right or wrong way to proceed through the holidays. If you’re sad, be sad. If you experience moments of joy, enjoy them to the fullest. If you feel like crying or taking a walk by yourself or spending the day shopping with your family, by all means, do it.
Above all else, remember this. Just as I couldn’t see my fingerprint but knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it was there, the same is true of God.
As we frequently recall this time of year, He is Immanuel, God with us. (Matthew 1:23) And it’s true, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.
♥ Lois
Hard-fought wisdom about grief from friends or trusted experts can be a light at the end of the tunnel for us as we work our way through our sadness. Share on X There’s no right or wrong way to proceed through the holidays. If you’re sad, be sad. If you experience moments of joy, enjoy them to the fullest. Share on X
My mom once asked me to recommend some good books for her to read. I gave her a couple of titles and told her that they had been tremendously impactful in my own life. She gave them back after about a week, explaining that she just couldn’t get into them.
At first, I was hurt and frustrated. Don’t ask for books to read if you’re not going to even put forth the effort, I grumbled inwardly.
There’s a spirea bush outside my front door that used to be in the backyard by the fence. It wasn’t really thriving there, so a few years ago, I dug it up and replanted it in the front garden.
I didn’t have high hopes for the shrub’s survival in its new spot, but I wanted to give it a chance. Happily, it seems to like it there. I didn’t really notice it much in the backyard, but now I get to enjoy delicate white flowers in the spring and pretty green leaves in the summer.