In David Kessler and Elisabeth Kübler-Ros’s book On Grief and Grieving, the introduction says of the stages of grief, “They are not linear, they are not a map for grief, do not reduce people to this, do not reduce our grief to this. These are not prescriptive, they’re descriptive, and they only describe general patterns.”
I didn’t think I’d write three sad posts in a row, but here we are.
Today began positive: I went for a run, was productive at work, and had a generally pleasant morning. Going into the afternoon, I felt more irritable and sluggish, but nothing I couldn’t brush off as the Tuesday blues.
With an evening of fun planned, I went to dinner with friends, only to find myself crying over spending a gift card my Grandpa had given me months ago.
Coming home, I cried even more to my parents and resolved to take a relaxing shower and pop in a movie. This rollercoaster of a day made me roll my eyes and ask, “Why does this all have to be so dramatic?”
In shaming myself for the audacity to have emotions, I center myself back to a healthier place with 1 Peter 4:8, which says, “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”
Here’s where I’ve gotten it all wrong, though: these sins are not the act of backtracking one’s grief. That’s not how grief works. Sins are lying to oneself that feeling sad or upset is wrong. It denies the opportunity for those closest to us to love on us, to save us from our own sin of self-shame. My friends at dinner showered me with compassion. My parents related to and comforted me with their wisdom. And my own heart took comfort in the knowledge that Jesus knows and loves every part of me, even the places I wish I didn’t have to revisit.
Food for thought: when have you misinterpreted vulnerability for weakness?
Rachel Fisher 