The first person I loved who died was Grandpa Joe, who was not technically my grandpa but may as well have been. He had moved to Houston to be near his grandkids, so I had already lost him by the time he died, but I felt it.
The next one was my Grammy. She was 96, and I was in the room when she slipped away. That one hurt, too, but she had been sick and we knew she would leave us.
The next two, happening within two years of each other, were very painful. My grandma and grandpa, whom I was very close to, left this world and went to Jesus. But even though it hurt more than it ever had before, they were elderly and sick. Grandpa had cancer and Grandma had Alzheimer's. I knew at that point, they were better off whole and happy with the Lord. So I could accept the goodbyes.
In that time, my cousin and his wife lost a 7 month old baby boy. I was not the one that spent every day of those 7 months going back and forth from the hospital to home, but I loved my cousin and his wife and I acutely felt their sorrow. I always wondered what to say when people dealt with losses of that magnitude. What do you do for someone who has had their heart ripped out by unimaginable grief? In my contemplation of those things, I started to worry. I worried that someone I loved would be ripped away from me. I wondered how I would go on if I had to face that kind of loss. I forgot everything God had to say on the subject, such as his "peace that surpasses understanding" and his tender "precious in the sight of God is the death of his saints." I forgot that I wouldn't "grieve as those who have no hope." Without realizing what I had done, I had allowed worry to become a regular visitor in my brain. It happened over such a long period of time that I didn't even know it was happening.
13 days ago my husband's phone rang at 5 am. I got ready to take my mom to the hospital, because something was wrong with Dad. Minutes later, probably just before I turned into the driveway amid a collection of flashing emergency vehicles and ran to the door of my parent's home, Jesus called my father to glory.
There had been no devastating illness. He had health challenges, but was in the care of a doctor who had said he was doing well only days before. He was no longer young, but he was not yet elderly. He worked part-time at our church, he had a writing ministry, he was a small group leader and a Sunday school teacher and did counseling. But one night after he finished posting on facebook and twitter, he went upstairs to bed, fell asleep, and woke up in the warm embrace of Jesus.
It still feels like a razor's edge to think about the moments that followed, and the days just after are quickly becoming an unbelievable fog. But there is one thing that hasn't started to fade away in some sort of self-preservation. One thing I won't ever forget or stop being grateful for. The thing that I never realized in all my worrying about grief and loss was that I wouldn't be doing it alone. And I haven't. We've had each other. The family that my parents wondered if they would ever have for 8 years of their marriage - well, we've multiplied.
We also haven't been left alone by our brothers and sisters in Christ. And that's what this post is about. I want to let you all know, because you've been asking, how to help someone who has dealt with unexpected and painful loss. Keep in mind, that what I found helpful may not necessarily be what someone else will appreciate. According to the Meyers Briggs Personality profile, I have the rarest personality type. So maybe I'm just weird. ;)
How You Can Help Someone Who's Grieving
1. It's okay to say the obvious. It's okay to tell us that you're sorry for our loss. It's okay to cry in front of us, it's okay to hug us tightly and say you're praying and you'll help in any way you can. That helps. It's a balm. What can be overwhelming is questions. How are we doing? How do we feel? What are we going to do now? In the first moments and days after such a loss, those can set off a kind of panic. There are so many decisions to be made, anyway, it's best not to ask too many questions about the future. That doesn't mean you shouldn't ask what happened. It helped me to process it to share what had happened that morning to those who have asked.
2. Joking is okay in moderation. This could just be our family, but some would probably be surprised by how much we laughed and joked those first few days. It is our family's way of coping. I think we all knew that it would be Dad's preference as well, so we didn't feel we were dishonoring him by keeping up the laughter and lighthearted sarcasm that marks most of our time together.
3. Remind us of the ways he blessed you. I found the best thing about the visitation and the memorial service was hearing all the ways my dad ministered to people that I hadn't even realized he was doing. Seeing students of his from years before with tears in their eyes, seeing his dentist standing in front of his casket and shedding tears at his loss, seeing familiar faces and knowing that they were also going to miss him was helpful.
4. Help with the practical. We didn't know to ask for it, but people showered food on us the first few days. Having food available and not worrying about feeding our children was such a help. There were some who went above and beyond all reason in bringing meal after meal that would feed all of us plus friends and family that arrived on Friday and Saturday. That was a big help, and I'm glad that others felt motivated to bless us in those ways. We also had no idea what we were going to do with 11 children between the ages of 2-10 for 4 hours in the funeral home. People volunteered to entertain them in the lounge of the funeral home, bringing crafts and movies and even taking on the children that came with the crowds of people that were there to say goodbye to my dad that Friday. We can never thank those generous, cheerful souls enough for that very needed service that again, we didn't know to ask for. If I had been worried about what my 3 year old was destroying the entire time we were there, I wouldn't have been able to focus on the people that came and the reason we were there, and that would have made it much more difficult. The cards we received were also a comfort and a blessing.
5. Remind us of what he would say if he were here, and what he did say when he was. One of the biggest comforts to me is remembering my dad's attitude and beliefs about death. He wasn't afraid of it. He was looking forward to it. And I know that if Jesus came into his bedroom that morning and gave him the option of coming home or staying here, he would have chosen Jesus in a heartbeat. So would I, after all. My dad was always very matter-of-fact about his death. And I've been able to hear his voice in my head when I start to despair or say it's not fair or he was too young. There's not a shadow of doubt in my mind that he would disagree vehemently with all of those arguments, and say that the way Jesus chose to call him home was the best scenario and he doesn't have a single regret about it. From his perspective, it's all good. That helps to keep in mind.
How Can You Be Prepared for Loss?
My last words of wisdom have to do with how I have been able to process the grief of losing my father, if anyone reading this ever has to face a similar experience, and let's face it, all of us will sooner or later. These are the things I have learned by personally facing the monster of grief and living to tell about it.
Death is not a natural occurrence. I know it's not what society wants us to believe. In their own way of coping, people have tried to suggest that death is natural and normal and part of the ways things should be. It's a lie. There's not a bit of truth to it and no part of the last 13 days have been natural or normal. Death is not the way it's supposed to be. Death goes against every fiber of our being. Our minds do not have the capacity to accept death, this is proven in the way we lose sleep, we have nightmares, we can't eat, we forget that the person is gone and look for them or expect them to walk around the corner at any minute. We weren't made for death. We CHOSE death by choosing to go against God. And he went all the way to the point of death himself, though it was as far from his character as you can get, and defeated it just so we would have a glimmer of promise to cling to when this unnatural and frightening reality comes to call.
Christ has defeated death. Not he will defeat it, he HAS defeated it. I always accepted this as truth because it was what the Bible says, but now that it's the rope I'm holding on to for dear life, I know it's true. Now that a very big part of who I am is across that curtain and looking at us from the other side of it, there is no doubt in my mind that when I take my last breath and take that unknown journey to where my dad has gone, I'm going to look at Jesus and know that every last bit of promise in the Bible was absolutely true. I used to consider heaven a far off place, beyond the furthest reaches of space. Now that part of me is there, I've started to see that it's not only far beyond my imagination, it's all around, in and through us. It's as close as the Spirit of the Lord, Who lives inside me. It's more real than the things I can see or hear or touch or taste or smell. It's perfect, and unbreakable, and sure. I understand now what the verse means: "To live is Christ, and to die is gain." Because of my parents, who told me that I needed to trust in Jesus' death and resurrection and ask him to forgive my sin and save me, I became a part of God's family when I was six. And he will never, ever, ever go back on that promise. I will be with him - and with my dad - for eternity.
Say what you need to say today. I wish someone had told me March 4th that I wouldn't want my last words to my dad to be a sarcastic quip on facebook. In fact, I felt a kind of uncomfortable prodding to tell my dad what he meant to me for years before he died. But I was afraid to. I was afraid I would make him uncomfortable, because we didn't generally do the lovey-dovey emotional stuff. Mostly, it was just because he and I were so much alike that we got awkward in each other's presence. But now I regret I didn't get over it and say - or write - what he meant to me. Make sure he knew I was proud of him, I wanted to be like him, and I loved him. I have no doubt he knew anyway, since we were so much alike. I have no doubt he could read between the lines and figure it out, just like I could do with him. But I wish I'd taken the time and courage to say it before he went away. I'm hopeful that Jesus has delivered my messages now.
And this completes yet another installment of Parsons girls "writing it out" as my sister says. There may be more. But thank you for allowing us to express ourselves this way, and reading and appreciating it on our dad's behalf. This is the way he would want us to honor him. Those who knew him know it's true.
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