There is a lot of PTSD involved in losing a child. That’s what Barb told me, at least. Barb used to be my therapist, my one and only. See, I went through a period, right after placing my mom in a long-term care center, where I felt unhinged. An utter failure. A wasted void of nothingness. I sought out Barb at the behest of my husband, who surely felt whatever it was I needed was not in his wheelhouse. Barb said it was misplaced fear. Basically, there are things we cannot fix. In that moment, that unrepairable thing was my mother. Yet, it took me back to another time when I couldn’t make something right, where I faced down a monster and didn’t win. Barb said I would have to be careful in the future. There will be many monsters to face. Each time that happens, I will undoubtedly find myself standing in the PICU waiting room on the 6th floor of a hospital, that feeling of inescapable dread building to a crescendo, waiting for them to tell me my daughter isn’t coming home.
Thing is, most of us will find ourselves in this position at some point. It doesn’t necessarily entail the loss of a child. This is one of those “if you know you know” type things, but the worst thing you’ve ever experienced hurts the same as the worst thing another person has ever experienced does. Maybe your worst thing is losing a grandparent. Maybe mine is losing a child. Maybe my granddaughter’s worst thing is losing Cheeto, who was the world’s greatest orange tabby. Those things all hurt THE SAME because the context
was different for each person. For each, it was simply the most awful thing we’d ever felt. You mustn’t put your grief on a pedestal and get all righteous about who gets the award for best grieving. That’s the equivalent of telling someone you wished they would lose their (fill in the blank) so they would know how you feel. Barb didn’t tell me that. God, did.
When I look back at all the things that grief monster stole from me, I can’t help but notice the gifts that were left behind. The world used to be flatter somehow. The colors were muted, but they were there. The highs were just “meh” and the lows were just “eck.” Life before all the bad stuff was just like the life many live now – a series of getting up and doing the same mundane things moment after moment after moment. Go to bed. Repeat 365 times. That was okay. That was the best I could do then. It is so different now.
I talk a lot about contrast. Once you’ve sat in the dark for a very long time, the sun hurts your eyes when you emerge. The world is a kaleidoscope. You keep turning and the sun makes everything glow with brilliance. You wonder where all those colors were kept for most of your life. It’s not that they weren’t there the whole time. It’s just that you couldn’t process them. Grief left a professional level photography editing app in your brain. God tinkered around and turned the shadow setting all the way up. He probably installed the heart eyes filter, too. You spent time in the darkest dark. Nothing will ever look the same again.
There is a famous teaching, found all over social media sites, about the grief ball theory. I’m sure you’ve seen it. Just in case, I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest version. There’s a ball made of barbed wire (I added that part). It lives in a box, made of your own flesh, near your heart. At first, the ball bumps up against the sides of the box constantly. The pain is unimaginable. That ball stays that size and that very texture for the remainder of your time on earth. It’s excruciating. Here's the important part: you can’t reduce the size of the ball, but you can increase the size of the box. Slowly but surely, with every gentle rain, every blooming rose, every sunset, the box will grow the tiniest amount. That ball is still going to hit the side of the box. It may happen daily. It may only happen monthly. It will always happen. In those times, you will still feel the prongs of barbed wire tear into your very soul. Slowly, you’ll realize that, while the pain is just as bad, the frequency has dissipated. It makes all the difference.
Recently, I read through Habakkuk in the Old Testament. The world had turned into an even scarier place. It felt as if evil was being celebrated. The monsters were being allowed to win. Habakkuk gave them this message from God. Allow me to poorly paraphrase. You can’t find happiness nor relief nor any good thing if you’re chained to the gallows with hate, despair, or fearful thoughts. Cleave to God. If this is His design, and it is, you dive in with abandon and figure out what He wants to show you. The sun is still rising and setting. The ocean is still ebbing and flowing. He is still with you.
If you need help managing the monsters, there are Barbs everywhere. I urge you to go and find one. A kaleidoscope awaits.
- Log in or Subscribe to post comments.