Grief and Covid

https://brenebrown.com/podcast/david-kessler-and-brene-on-grief-and-finding-meaning/

https://www.psychotherapynetworker.org/magazine/article/2438/love-grief

Grief Share

My mom shared this resource with me, which is "A Season of Grief" daily e-mails and I just wanted to make note of it and pass it along to anyone who might find this helpful currently or in the future.

I'm on day 4, which discusses how grief lasts longer than expected. So much of the grief materials I have consumed the past 7 months have acknowledged how grief is not something that we get over, but also how this is an expectation from those around us; primarily those who have never experienced a deep loss. 

Today's e-mail even addresses how people within the church can act as if you lack faith if you're still grieving after some arbitrary amount of time. I get it. I wrestle with the question of do I truly believe the good news and in the reality of Heaven if my heart is still so broken over the earthly tragedy of Jerrod's death. I love the response:

"Knowing the Lord and His comfort does not take away the ache; instead, it supports you in the middle of the ache. Until I get home to heaven, there’s going to be an ache that won’t quit. The grieving process for me is not so much a matter of getting rid of the pain, but not being controlled by the pain.”

We read in the Psalms that David grew weary with the process of grief and cried out to the Lord. Then he left the timing in God’s hands.

“Be merciful to me, LORD, for I am faint; O LORD, heal me, for my bones are in agony. My soul is in anguish. How long, O LORD, how long? Turn, O LORD, and deliver me; save me because of your unfailing love” (Psalm 6:2-4).

“I am weary with my sighing; Every night I make my bed swim, I dissolve my couch with my tears. My eye has wasted away with grief” (Psalm 6:6-7 NASB)."

God is close to the brokenhearted. It is an honest experience to both grieve and feel this pain and trust in the Lord for my healing and the hope of my future.

7 Months

I have continued to take a partial-hiatus from social media. The times I catch myself scrolling through my Instagram or Facebook feed on Safari, I'm aware of how empty and meaningless it feels and I close the window. In the initial wake of losing Jerrod, posting or blogging about some of what I was experiencing and receiving some acknowledgment, encouragement or word of comfort in return felt helpful. And then it didn't. I suddenly felt the need to more privately sit with my grief and tend to my heart alone with the Lord. It's a journey that I will continue to walk, mostly alone, because it's mine alone to carry.

We have lived so much life in the past 7 months, more than I would have thought possible with how much we have simultaneously been mourning. There are moments when I have been so consumed with joy, singing and dancing with my children, it feels like my heart could burst.  And just as quickly there are tears streaming down my face. It is an exhausting yin and yang. My heart aches that there was a last moment of Jerrod delighting in Jackson and that there never was nor ever will a be first moment of delighting in Avery.  My heart breaks for the future he will not have and the future we have without him. I said to Bret at Christmas, “we made it through the first one without Jerrod, but it’s just that: the first; the first of the rest of every Christmas without him.” We haven’t made it through and now we’re done; we’re only just beginning.

My blogging has also decreased because the reality is that it feels impossible to regularly and accurately convey what the process of living with grief feels like; words fall short. I start to type or post something and then I stop.  Mostly I just read other people's stories and experiences of grief and loss. They are tragic and beautiful: the love that we carry and the depths of grief and pain we can survive.  While they don't fully reflect my experience, I feel connected to a community of mourners finding their way through the impossible.  And because I have also used this blog to share resources, one community I'm in the process of getting connected to is called The Dinner Party.  I'll get the opportunity to meet with other 20-30-somethings who have also experienced a significant loss.  I'm hopeful of raw and authentic conversations with other individuals who have an understanding of the weight I carry. Books are great, but people are better. I'll try to update how it goes.

Last Day

Currently listening:


I have found myself emotionally consumed by this memoir. I didn't know Harris Wittels, though I unknowingly loved his work as a fan of Parks & Recreation. So his death was not something I became aware of until the death of my brother. I first heard his sister and mom sharing their story on Nora McInerny's podcast: Terrible, Thanks for Asking.  I remember sharing that podcast episode with my mom because I connected so much to their experience of finding out about Harris's death.  While my brother technically took his own life, he and Harris battled the same demon: heroin.  Since the tragic death of her brother, Stephanie Wittels Wachs has started a podcast that I'm just discovering and diving into after internet stalking her upon listening to half of her book on audio.  The way our brother's died and the circumstances following their death are very different, especially given the fact that my brother was not famous, but I connect so much to her emotional experience. And I LOVE the raw, real way she writes.

Grief & Christmas

A simplified list of things a grieving person would like people to be aware of at Christmas (though I would add any holiday or significant moment). Link at the bottom. 

1. Even the best times are punctuated with an awareness that someone is missing.
2. Social situations are hard.
3. Extended family can be awkward and uneasy.
4. Tears are not a problem.
5. It can be hard to remember why Christmas should be so merry.

https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/what-grieving-people-wish-you-knew-at-christmas

grief and the internet

Taken from https://www.thatericalper.com/2015/08/16/person-is-asking-for-advice-hn-how-to-deal-with-grief-this-reply-is-incredible/

6 Months with Sis & the Advent of Joy

I recently took, what felt like, another blow to add to the shit storm of grief and immediately deleted my Instagram and Facebook apps. For whatever reason I knew I needed to be fully present with this new onset of emotions and that these two things would shortchange that; turning to the numbing and distraction of scrolling through posts mindlessly.  In all honesty, I still try to resort to those places but the inconvenience of going through Safari limits the frequency.

It’s also strange and a little embarrassing that there was some fear of being forgotten or even people not recognizing my absence. My motivation in sharing online is often about not wanting to feel alone and also hoping to feel more normal in my struggle through validation from others. It’s ridiculous, and again a little embarrassing, that a ️ or  can play even the smallest part on my feelings of self-worth or that I need any kind of validation from those places. I mean here I am even using another social media avenue for the illusion of connection. But this one’s audience is small; maybe even nonexistent (unless shared to FB), so I justify...

And for what? To share my daughter’s six month picture...because I guess otherwise the past six months of her life didn’t happen? (I know it also functions as a digital "baby book" of sorts and is nice to be able to click on her #ouraveryfaith hashtag and instantly have access to our memories.)  I know it is a public celebration of sorts and way of documenting gratitude for these milestones. And, again, also to not feel alone in the struggle that the past 6 months has been. I could just post my pretty picture of a smiling Avery and lead you to believe that this represents life for us.  It does represent some of our life to be sure, and it is not the whole picture.  I know that's the reality of any person's Instagram or Facebook presence.  Even when I post the hard stuff you're not REALLY seeing the whole picture. You're getting a glimpse into the hard, but not what it's like on a day-to-day, moment-to-moment, up and down, all over the place roller-coaster that we are living. 

The past six months have been full of joy and immense heartache. I am so grateful for my children and they also make it hard to grieve on a regular basis.  They need me to show up and I need them to remind me that life is still beautiful in the midst of the brokenness and pain.  I don't know what state I would be in without them.  Avery could not have come into our lives at a more complicated and perfect time. The warmth of her smile, which radiates constantly, is a daily reminder that light shines brightest in the dark. 

We've been going through Advent at church this year, which is something entirely new to Crossroads. It could not have come at a more perfect holiday season for me. The past week was on the Advent of Joy and talking a lot about how the Christmas story takes place at night; Night representing spiritual/emotional darkness. We are living in a season of Night and the only thing that I really connect with this Christmas is the desperate need for the return of our Savior. Chuck also talks about having joy that defies the night, our past and our present pain. While I have joy with my children, I have yet to fully access the joy and hope as it pertains to Jerrod's death and the grace and freedom he (and we) receive through Jesus' birth, death and resurrection.  So we mourn and we wait. And we cling to the little bits of light breaking through our night.