Yes, I just said that. So you know I’m going to be honest here. This has been a really hard week. Grief is like that sometimes.
Those who grieve will take small comfort in knowing that even for nice, spiritual people, every day doesn’t end in a rainbow. Sometimes, grief sucks, life is hard, and you feel like you’re drowning, even while you’re believing that God is good and does good.
Jesus was called a “Man of Sorrows.” He wept so hard at Lazarus’ grave that the mourners stopped mourning to comment how much Jesus must have loved him to cry like that at the tomb. Jesus also wept over cities and crowds and critics and the confused. He wept a lot, so I’m in good company. He knows that my tears don’t say anything about my faith.
So when people ask me how I am doing, I try to be truthful, but I soft-pedal it a little so they don’t freak out and get uncomfortable. I say “Good” (aka Crummy), “Okay” (aka Not okay), and “Not so good” (aka Terrible). Can’t we all just give ourselves permission to be honest about grief? I miss my mom so much.
I must be taking solace in her belongings, but that has also brought me loss. This week her furniture arrived, at great expense and trouble. I opened the PODS to find out that the packers who packed (in my absence) weren’t good packers at all. And many of her things are broken and ruined, and I want to hit something, but I don’t. The worst is the mahogany table that belonged to my mother and my grandmother and my great-grandmother, broken into 6 pieces because it was packed by an idiot, and I think That’s exactly how I feel–broken, unrepairable.
Yet at some point, I will pick up the table pieces (they’ve been enshrined on my living room floor for days), and I will find out how to put them back together. I will likely spend a lot more money to pay someone to put them back together. I don’t know if the table will stand again or not. Certainly, it will have weak spots, if it does.
Like me. Weak from loving and losing. Weak from saying good-bye.