A Grief With No Name
What do you call my kind of grief?
Grief
I grieve a death, but not a death,
a loss without a funeral,
an emptiness without a grave,
an epitaph without a gravestone.
I grieve a death, but not a death.
I’ve had some difficult days this past week. My grief was overwhelming, squelching my ability to do anything. What am I grieving, you ask?
There are many kinds of grief
Some say there are at least 16 types of grief. And yet, none of them characterize my grief. Does that mean that what I am experiencing is not grief? No, I know that’s not true. But what I think it does mean is that nobody’s tried to categorize my grief.
And perhaps that’s because my grief is related to mental illness. You see, mental illness killed my child, at least the child that was. I can give you the exact date almost eight years ago. Every manic episode. Every stint in the hospital since then has fed my grief. It’s been relentless. And what once was has been replaced by a morph. A morph that lives in my world, reminding me almost daily of my loss. How do I grieve well when I am a constant witness to my loss?
What do you call that kind of grief?
I know. I know. Some of you may be saying, “That’s not really grieving death.”
To you, I say, “Well, if you’ve never encountered mental illness in your family — if you, as a parent, have never experienced death like this — then I’m glad for you. I hope you will never know this pain.”
Others of you may say, “Where’s your faith in God that He will heal your child?” Fair enough. I don’t doubt God’s healing hand but I also know Jesus says this about life on this earth:
In this world you will have trouble. (John 16:33, NIV)
Jesus experienced that Himself when He chose to become fully human. He grieved. The shortest verse in the Bible tells us so:
Jesus wept. (John 11:35, NIV)
He wept over Lazarus’s death. And then He restored life!
I know that if my child were suddenly completely healed, I would consider it a resurrection of life in the same way. Oh, how I would dance and sing and give all glory to God. I would have a celebration like the ones recorded in Luke 15!
But today — today, I grieve!
Still others of you may not understand what I’m talking about. My words may seem vague. That’s because the mental illness story is not my story. I am but a caregiver to the main character of the story. But my grief is very real, nonetheless.
But God
I am generally a hopeful person. But this past week, my fire of hope seemed to be only dying embers. I was enslaved by my grief, with little capacity to do anything that normally would bring me joy.
But God, in His graciousness, ministered to me through the gentle compassion of others.
In the devotional book, Faith That Matters, compiled by Frederick Buechner, Brennan Manning defines Biblical compassion as “combining heartfelt emotion with active relief for the suffering.”
That’s what I experienced. During a Zoom meeting, my publishing team and a few fellow writers sat with me in my grief, without judgment. I felt their kindness and empathy. They prayed with me and then gave me some resources that might help me. And it was good.
Griefshare.org was one of those resources. That afternoon I contacted the leader of one of the local groups. I shared with her my story, my grief, asking her if I’d fit into a GriefShare group. She was honest when she said she didn’t think so. But she didn’t leave me stranded! She connected me to her care pastor who then contacted me almost immediately. And in her kindness, she asked if we could meet. She knew I needed help. Oh, how beautiful the body of Christ!
By the end of the day, I went to bed hopeful. God heard my cries.
I’ll be honest with you — until now, I’ve NEVER called what I’m experiencing a grief over a death. I’ve been afraid to name it. But I believe that the naming of it will help me understand it and process it and not be afraid of it. Does that make sense?
John 16:33 doesn’t end with trouble and suffering. The rest of the verse reads:
But take heart! I have overcome the world. (John 16:33, NIV)
Hillsong United has written many songs down through the years. Still, one of my favourites is from their 2011 “Aftermath” album. It always speaks to me — sometimes to the point of tears:
“So take heart; let His love lead us through the night;
Hold on to hope; and take courage again….
All our troubles; and all our tears; God our hope; He has overcome…”
A grief with a name
The question remains: What do I call this kind of grief? For now, I’m calling it perpetual grief. And that may change, because I can still hope that God will heal, restore, and raise my child back to life on this earth and grief will be no more.
But if not, He will definitely do it in heaven. Oh, the sweet mystery of this kind of hope!
