Grieving on a Sunshiny Day

No matter how many pills I swallowed or how much coffee I drank, a familiar darkness settled in last week for about three days. And I didn't like it. 

Because even though I've processed grief off and on for years now, when the feeling hits, I tend to fear it will never go away.

For some people it doesn't. 

Thankfully, I can honestly say that I'm back in my skin, feeling like me, smiling at times even before I partake of morning coffee. 

But as I mentioned last week, a collision of events created an atmosphere ripe for sadness. So when Nathan moved out and I drove home to my empty nest once more, an aching melancholy engulfed me like a powerful summer storm. 

I felt so odd, and a tad bit panicky, that I didn't make it to church on Sunday. Looking back, I'm fairly certain the change in medicine exacerbated my need to grieve. Regardless, the momentary darkness reminded me of how real those dark days can be. 

Just a week ago, I listened as a young women grappled with how to face the upcoming one year anniversary of her mother's death. Since we were celebrating her eighteenth birthday, I spoke from the sunny side, reminding her that a year ago, she couldn't imagine making it one day without her mom. 

"While the day will be hard," I encouraged,"You'll get through it, just like you've survived  every day this year."

But then I faced a few days of grief and remembered all the anniversaries of my first husband's death that required a distinct tunneling through. As the day would approach, I felt burrowed underground, away from normal life. I breathed the same air and lived the same way as the week before, yet everything felt different. I was never alone in the tunnel, just like I wasn't this week. And in time the tunnels got shorter and eventually faded in intensity.

A good cry helps. But I didn't feel the need to shed a tear last weekend until Don came home from church and asked if he should be worried about me. Something about his concern sparked a flow. And I sobbed. 

A piano student shed tears today when she told me her dog died last week. Another student talked about grieving a recent move. Tomorrow, my friend will live through the first anniversary of her mother's death and most certainly wipe unwanted, painful tears.

Grief. It's real. All encompassing. A weighty sadness that takes time to heal. Even on sunshiny days.

And that's OK. 

It's simply OK.

Because in time, it fades and does a purifying work that enhances joy. How? I don't really know. But it can. It does. It makes the soul grow.

So grieve for a day, a few days, maybe even a season. Then let the balloons go and live your God given life.

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