What Are You Grieving?

This past Tuesday, we met with our small group via Zoom. I know Zoom isn't new, but this week has been my introduction to using it, and it's been a really wonderful tool to help in this season of strange isolation.

I have to start by bragging on this one couple in our group. We have a pretty broad age range of small group members, but I was most worried about the oldest couple. I wasn't sure if they could get the program to cooperate, and I offered to go help them set it up if they had issues. They logged on six hours before the meeting began, got it all set up, and were the first people to join the meeting when it started. And everything worked the very first time. I was so stinkin' proud of them!

Though I haven't hated staying inside our home the last few days, it was really nice to see all their faces and hear their thoughts as we studied together for a couple of hours.

One of the things I talked about with them - which was something I also mentioned in passing to you in an earlier post this week - was grief. We all grieve different things in this time that none of us even imagined a month ago.

Many of my friends had to cancel their spring break trips. I thought back to a year ago at this time, when Ryan and I were just a few day away from leaving on his 40th birthday cruise. We had just come out of that long season of caring for his mom, and we needed that time away together. We needed warmth, sunshine, and a break. I would absolutely be grieving that if the trip had been this year. And I know my friends grieve their time away.

I read about an adoption service asking for prayer for parents who planned to travel to births and to get their long-awaited new babies, but travel bans are complicating that. I thought about some of my friends who have adopted and how precious that first-meeting trip was for them. To think about enormous delays to meet the baby you ache to have...I can't imagine the grief.

An older gentleman from our church passed away recently, and the funeral home had to cancel his public viewing. They had to modify the funeral service, and though I don't know they ended working out the details, I know it wasn't what the family ever would have imagined for their father and grandfather. I thought about Nita's viewing just a year ago - with 800 people coming through the viewing line and dozens more gathering for a final goodbye. I told Ryan if she'd died this year instead, I couldn't have even gone with him to the funeral. She had way too many immediate family members to allow for in-laws, grandchildren, or friends. I can't imagine what it would have been to send my husband away to his mother's funeral...alone.

Even in our church staff meetings, I've seen the grief of ministers who desperately want to do their jobs and minister to their people, but they can't. Our pastor preaches to empty seats. Our choir director can't assemble the choir. Our children's pastor can't meet up with kids for lunch. They're being creative in ministry, but they grieve what was so quickly pulled away.

School teachers grieve their classes.

Librarians miss their storytime kids.

Restaurant owners miss their regulars.

We're all grieving something.

I talked to a friend last night and as she tried to chide herself and dismiss her disappointment, I told her something I learned years ago from a hospital chaplain: Whatever pain is in front of you is the greatest possible pain. And I reminded her that her passions matter. I urged her not to dismiss the disappointment, but to recognize it and give it a place of grief for a time.

We don't wallow forever, of course. That is counterproductive. But we can grieve what we've lost - even for a time - or what we may have to face losing.

Ryan works in health care, and I've had to face the truth that he may come home one night and tell me he has to distance for two weeks. He may have to move into our bedroom and stay there. I may have to wave at him through the window and FaceTime from the next room. I may not be able to get a hug or look at his face in person even though we live in the same house. That's a potential grief I'm preparing for.

So what are you grieving? Have you thought about recognizing that grief for what it truly is? It may not last forever, but it is here for this season, and it's important to acknowledge it!