On Grief

My husband surprised me one night when he told me that our bereavement ministry pastor was looking for someone to help teach one of the weeks at our church’s grief workshop. It took me a little off guard for a few reasons. The first is that even though we had technically been at this church for several months by this point, we had mostly been doing virtual church at home, and I was having trouble feeling all that connected. The idea of ministering to people I hardly knew felt strange to me. But the second and main reason this took me by surprise is because I’m not a public speaker. Sure, school reports and a few church occasions, I’ve done a few things here and there. But I’m not a pastor. And grief is such a heavy thing. Would I be able to do this well? 

You might be surprised at my trepidation. I work with oncology patients. I must grieve for and with patients on a regular basis, so I must know something of grief, no? Well, although this might be true, there’s also a certain level of professional distance. And just because I go through grief doesn’t mean I go through it well. So I debated for a little while if this would be something I could do. 

I decided to try it. In marrying my husband, I’ve been constantly pushed to get out of my comfort zone, since he’s a borderline extrovert and his philosophy in life is when at all possible, if the opportunity comes, to say “yes.” (And yes, we’ve gotten into arguments about this ingrained philosophy because I’m a severe introvert, but honestly, it’s been healthy for me to push myself, so… 😀 )

At this point, I’ve already done the teaching night. And I’ve decided to split this experience into two entries. This one will be on what I’ve learned and seen through the experience, the second will be my own “testimony” and the teaching content, although some of it removed for the sake of relevance and to be more understandable to someone who hasn’t been through the curriculum. I may also try to explore in another entry what it might look like to create a grief-ministry from the ground up, but this might take some further exploration and time.

So, in order for me to understand what I had gotten myself into, I decided to start going to the classes from week 1. The whole thing is a 10 week course. I was surprised and glad to learn that many of the speakers and teachers of each of these sessions were not pastors or teachers. A good number of them were licensed counselors, which I will admit was a little intimidating. Every single speaker had their own personal experience of loss. Every attendee had experienced losses that were very close to the heart, which meant they had lost a person close to them through death or, interestingly enough, divorce. They were split into tables based on their loss categories. 

I definitely had weeks of panic. But it also helped to know that every teacher had their own style. For example, one of the first speakers was a very pregnant young woman who had experienced multiple pregnancy losses, and she had a much more energetic style, whereas the teacher for week 3 had a much more low key, practical style. None of these were wrong. They were always exactly what was needed, as grief looks and feels different depending on who you are and where you are in your grief journey. As each week went by, I began to feel a little more confident. 

UNTIL THE WEEK OF BECAUSE WHO LET ME DO THIS.

Ok, I was fine up until a few days before the event. I’d spent several weeks thinking through, writing down, and brainstorming the  content. I figured out the powerpoint, I knew when the timing of things were, I was prepared. I was going to go to church straight after work with the clothes I would be changing into. And then, as I’m sure my coworkers were amused to see, I became a moderately nervous wreck. (“How do I tuck in this shirt? Do I look ok? Omg why did I agree to this. I think my palms are sweating. I need deodorant, I’m going to sweat through my clothes.”)

I got there, they did the whole sound check, Erin (the bereavement ministry pastor) prepped and encouraged me, my stomach did several somersaults, I pulled out my notes, and my husband came by to pray for me. That was nice, the prayer part. 

Finally, one of the volunteers introduced me (Erin had me send a quick bio via email. I don’t do bios. Who does bios?! That’s for like… cool people!), and I was off to the races. 

The funny thing was, as soon as I got up there, all that nervous energy just… stopped. I started speaking through the material. And I realized something very interesting. 

This was not a group here to discuss theology and the ins-and-outs of grief and God and Christianity. Every single person in this room had experienced a profound, life-wrenching loss. I couldn’t quite put it into words at the time, but looking back, the sense I got from the room was that all of us were in the same place. We were all together, we understood that this journey is a messy, chaotic, and sometimes terrible one. It didn’t feel like I was going through content for strangers. This might sound strange and a little exaggerated, but it honestly was like the moments you see in a movie before a big battle, when the characters find a moment for quiet conversation, a time to take a deep breath before the coming fight. There is a camaraderie, a sense of support and understanding.

I’ll share the content sometime in the next few weeks, but the lesson I took for this week was regarding how we connect spiritually through our grief. Of all the weeks, this was probably the one most suited for me, since this was my first time going through this program and many of the practical lessons of previous and following weeks might not apply as much to me. I had on-and-off thought through this topic over the course of the last several years. I ended up sharing about the loss of a friend several years ago, as it led to a season of anger at God that I had never experienced before. 

In the weeks since I started these classes, a few things have happened that I didn’t expect. 

1. The grief of others feels closer. 

We’ve had a few big losses at our clinic in the last few weeks, patients we’ve walked with for long periods of time and people who came in in desperate straits. Some other of our patients had been friends with these people. I had a conversation with one of them recently who shared with me that she can’t bear to become friends with any other patients at the  clinic any more. She listed for me the people we’ve lost over the last few years, how incredibly traumatic these losses have been, and we grieved together their absence in our lives. With a different patient, we shared memories of someone who passed away recently, the funny stories, the poignant memories, and I marvelled at her, at her quiet, albeit sometimes nervous, tenacity, her steadiness in the face of her grief. 

I have watched these experiences before, been part of them again and again. Yet, in the last few months, I can feel my soul drawing closer to the people I work with, both staff and patients, even if it\’s just incrementally. I have invited people to find their own grief workshops to go to. I’ve had more conversations about grief than I think I can remember. And I feel less inclined to shy away, as I used to think it might be an overstep or unprofessional. I admire about the nursing profession that we are allowed this: the soft touch, the heart-to-heart. There is a coldness to medicine that I know can be hard to swallow. I am so grateful to be in a profession where these kinds of conversations and concerns aren’t out of the ordinary. I get to do this. 

1. I can do this. 

I reflected on this before in my previous blog post; I realized I am more able than I thought I was. It’s not that I gave an incredibly life changing teaching lesson, or that I believe I’m a charismatic speaker. It’s just that I realized I am more capable than I thought I was. (I can’t seem to find a way to make myself sound less arrogant xD). I enjoy putting words together (hence, this blog) and communicating complex thoughts and feelings. I might not be perfect at it, but if I eventually want to end up in a place where I am ministering to people through teaching about how to steward our bodies and maximize their capacities, it’s good to know that I can do the research, put it down on paper, and communicate it clearly and have it be understood. 

I also find that I rely so much on God’s grace. Yes, I do the research and try to base things on biblical truths, but I know sometimes I’ll be plain wrong or trip over my words. I might fumble and feel incredibly insecure. Through this experience, I find that I can do things like this because I desperately rely on God’s grace to speak through my words or experience, and I hope that those who are listening will be able to hear or use more despite my mistakes. 

1. Learning to grieve should be normal

I had heard of grief workshops and classes before, but I’d never personally taken one or even really heard of anyone who had been through one. But honestly, I wish something like this was a more regular part of the rhythm of our lives. It might not have to be a 10 week class, but grief is so much a part of life, I’m surprised I haven’t heard more sermons or been through more bible studies or small groups where this was a topic of discussion. 

For the last several months, I’ve been part of a small group, and all of us are women with children. As we’ve hung out and talked over these months, I have realized that all of us struggle with anger, sadness, and, in so many ways, grief. All of us have acknowledged that although there is so much joy in having children and in being married, there is also sometimes an unacknowledged sense of loss. We grieve the loss of many of our freedoms, our sense of selves and individuality, the loss of our physical health at times, and the loss of control we face on a daily basis. And although some of these losses have resulted in very redeeming stories, the process of grieving these losses has been complex and nuanced. 

The creation of this group was a natural extension of our needing community, but it took someone stepping in and saying, “Hey, how do you feel about joining this small group?” in order for us to make it. In the same way, grief in some of the greater losses of our lives seems like it should be natural, but finding the community to help deal with it can be hard and complicated unless someone takes that first step. For example, in one of the sessions, I came across a man whose life had frozen as a result of his grief. The loss of a family member had stopped any possibility of thriving, and he could not deal with the anger and sadness he felt on a regular basis. A group like this was so needed during that initial period of loss, yet he had not found it until some years afterward. Not until someone found him, had a conversation, and recommended this group for him to try.

In exploring what it means to create a health ministry or to be a faith community nurse, I want to figure out ways for churches to create ministries like this. My own church is so large and has been around for a while, which makes it a natural place to learn. Not to say I’m thinking of leaving at some point, but the majority of churches are much smaller, much more communal. How can these churches build into their regular rhythm a way for their community members to live through their grief? 

I will continue to explore this as the weeks go on. But I have been so blessed to be able to walk alongside and learn from the people in this workshop and in all these classes what it looks like to walk through our grief well. I have seen small answers to the question, “where is God in our grief?” I have learned that he meets us where we are, and although many of the struggles through grief have been wrenching and painful, I can see the flashes and hints of God at work. So if you are in a place where you are grieving, or want to be the person who helps people through their grief, I pray for the journey, that you will be able to see that God is present and walking with you, that not everything will always be clear, but he is doing more in this journey and this story than you are able to see.