What Grief Feels Like
Shock. Horror. Sorrow. Grief. Lament. Anger. On my knees in prayer. Holding my hugs extra long. How to even speak about it? How to talk to our kids about it? Our teenagers? As Americans, we are too used to headlines about senseless death in faraway places. It’s terrible, and we pray and feel like we wish we could do something, and maybe we do do something, but then it passes. But here in Bend, in our small community, the most vulnerable of the most vulnerable population was targeted and senselessly murdered. It’s like an earthquake with a 9.2 magnitude hit that classroom filled with precious special needs children. There’s an epicenter, and everyone in Bend has been affected in one way or another. Some are in the epicenter itself, while others are very close to it. It ripples out and even those people who didn’t know anyone directly affected have still been moved by it.
It’s evidenced in all the ways our community has come together since then. So many businesses offering things for free, especially for kids who were out of school. Safe places to make art, to go bowling, to eat meals, to play soccer. I was surprised at the number of kids and people out and about for the next several days after the Silver Rail shooting. It was precious to see kids and parents together, everywhere—walking, hanging out at parks, throwing a football around together. Everything feels more visceral. Yesterday while out driving early, the blue of the sky at sunrise felt bluer than ever.
“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me…It is so uninteresting.” – C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
As a mother trying to hold it together in front of her special needs son, I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve cried in private, whenever I can steal away alone. How do we lament and move forward? What is the next right thing to do? I can tell you what we have been doing at our house. Grieve, scrub things til they shine (me), stain the fence (hubby), spending more time in prayer than usual (just being honest), reading from the Psalms and Every Moment Holy Liturgies, spending time outdoors with our family and friends. Hugging everyone a little tighter.
“We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain.” Hebrews 6:19
I praise God that we have our hope in Jesus. I know without a doubt that the one young person our family knows who was killed last week, is now no longer suffering. He is in heaven in the arms of Jesus, completely healed and made whole. If not for this faith I would be utterly lost. Thank you, Jesus. (heart emoji)
