Life is Pain, Not Disneyland

When I was 9 years old, I visited Disneyland for the very first time. I have vague memories of going to Fantasy Land, where Cinderella’s castle captured my attention. I recall the river cruise in Frontier Land. When I came to Tomorrow Land, I was curious and wondered if what I saw would be the future.

Six years ago, when my husband suddenly died, I entered my own Tomorrow Land, arriving in a place I had never imagined or experienced before. I was thrown into an abyss of grief I had no idea how to manage. The reality of the quote from The Princess Bride movie became true; "Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”

Walking around like a zombie the first weeks after my husband died, I found no words to describe my pain. Just as toddlers cannot say sentences, they begin by pointing to pictures to communicate. My first thing in the morning was putting on my shoes and taking the dog for a walk. While walking, I discovered I could find actual objects to describe my grief. A broken, dead tree or a demolished building that sat in ruins became the symbols of how I felt. I took pictures with my phone to begin to describe the grief. My eyes were looking for what my mind needed to put words to.

The next discovery I made was that there were other people’s words to describe my pain. The Psalms of lament became a balm for my broken heart when I would read Psalm 13, verse 1, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” In Psalm 56, verse 8, “You yourself have recorded my wanderings. Put my tears in your bottle.  Are they not in your book?” I wrapped myself in these words to define my state of being. Hope began to drip into my dry bones.

With photos and other people’s words, I began to find my own voice to depict my pain. I journaled my feelings, my questions, my fears, my scattered thoughts, and tear-filled prayers. I filled page after page the first weeks and months as I poured out my heart. What began as a wordless entry into an unknown land has become a safe harbor for others who are wondering and wandering as they grieve the loss of their spouse.

I had no clue whether I would make it in those first weeks and months. Day by day, over the weeks and months and now years, I have held on to the One who is with me, sustaining me, carrying me, recording every tear, listening to every prayer, spoken and unspoken. There hasn't been a day God has not been faithful. He is and will be for you.

‘‘Grateful Yet Grieving’’

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download

Grading Our Grief

For the last few weeks, two major hurricanes have taken a toll on thousands of people in the southeast. I’ve received emails and texts regarding relief efforts and how to help those who have lost everything. Both hurricanes were categorized by using a system to indicate the wind speed. Category 5 was the worst, with wind speeds up to 150 miles per hour. Rating hurricanes is necessary to help people get prepared and take emergency steps. It makes me wonder if we have a similar system of categorizing our grief or grading our grief. 

When talking with someone who has experienced a loss, I’ve heard the phrase, “Well, I know someone who has it a lot worse.” Or, “losing a child is worse than losing a spouse.” Both these statements offer little comfort and dismiss the intensity of loss. Comparing our loss with someone else is like comparing apples to oranges. No two losses are the same. Grief is not categorizable. Grief cannot be compartmentalized. Grading your grief offers little more than a band-aid to someone who has gone through major surgery.

Dr. Perri Klass writes in an essay in the New York Times on Grief Shame: (https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/29/opinion/why-we-judge-each-others-grief.html)

“But is there not some way to take some judgment out of the equation, whether we’re judging someone for grieving too much, too little, or too long for using the wrong language, or for daring to suggest that grief can be profound even after what may seem like a lesser bereavement? People who are mourning a pregnancy that ended in a loss do not need to be told that it is harder to lose a 1-year-old; people who are grieving parents whom they loved don’t need to be reproached for causing pain to those who are estranged from their own parents. There is always a greater grief. You can acknowledge the rich history of human sadness and still mourn your own loss.”

Grief is personal and unique and reflects the love and attachment you had with your loved one. The way we grieve and mourn will reflect the many dimensions of who we are and who are loved one was. There is no grading system for our grief. We all pass the class as we move through our grief.

‘‘Grateful Yet Grieving’’

FREE ebook by Pam Luschei | Click HERE To Download