It’s been over five years since we lost our son, and my grief has ebbed and flowed, as has my writing. I’m not sure why, but finding words these days is a little harder.
Though I’m farther down the road, I still have days when I struggle. Reading my journal has reminded me that grief can be overwhelming, but I am not alone. My Savior leads the way and holds me as I go, and I am encouraged by His faithfulness.
I hope that the following excerpts from my early days of grief touch someone who is struggling to grasp their feelings as they travel their own path of loss.
You are not alone.
The One who created you, understands you, and is near to your broken heart.
I struggle to hold His hand, though it is steady and strong.
My strength is weak. My fingers slip, and I cry, “Jesus,” for there is nothing else to cry.
Yet the fall is not forever.
It is brief, I land softly.
I land in His hem of grace, where I am secure — secure all along — surrounded by the love of my Father
There are days when I want to lie in the deep, dead weeds of winter.
To lie still as the early spring winds roar above.
To lie and wait as sunlight bathes my mournful soul.
But I must keep going. Trudging forward, I make my way through this wilderness toward the garden. Seeing the light ahead, I move quickly. I long for healing, yet doubt and fear reach for me. They cause me to stumble and slow my pace.
So I stop.
Breathe a prayer of dependence
I resolve to watch the path more carefully.
When will I arrive, Heavenly Father, and fall into Your arms and rest?
Often You call me to rest — to rest where I am — yet I am not resting.
I am wrestling, squirming in Your arms of grace, even as You carry me through this wilderness.
Lord, I press into You so deeply.
Is Your imprint even visible on this fragile soul?
Yet I am held here — even now.
Those were hard days and weeks and months. You were grabbing and grasping on to the best hand possible. God is sad with and for us in these times. Keep trusting and walking forward. God bless and strengthen you even now.