
The grief comes in waves. The tears, followed by the numbness, and finally the exhaustion. Over and over and over.
Nothing prepares you for the phone call. For the shock. For the text messages and phone calls. For the decisions. For the tears. For the anger. For the confusion. For the sheer number of details. For the hugs. For the numbness. For the massive amounts of coffee. For the scheduling. For the questions. For the unknown.
And this has been the past month for me. In one sense it’s been one of the longest months of my life; in another sense it’s as though time compressed and I don’t know where the days and weeks went.
Yet in spite of the grief and the sorrow, life moves forward. However, juggling projects and tasks at work and home isn’t as easy as it was six weeks ago. Managing my emotions is more difficult when I don’t know how I’m actually feeling most of the time. Keeping track of details feels impossible with a scattered mind. The emotional and mental reserves are low. Quite low.
Balancing moving forward with taking time to grieve is proving trickier than it sounds. With project-based work, taking extended time off is easier said than done. So for the past couple of weeks I’ve focused on catching up and getting ahead. Because of this, I was able to take a day off so that I could just be. And that day was a glorious gift that I didn’t realize how much I needed until I woke up without the pressure of having to go into work and manage projects and people. Will I need more of these days in the coming months? Probably. Will I be diligent in taking them when I need to? Hopefully.
And then there’s church. From the beginning, I’ve been honest with people and not hidden my emotions. At times I’ve retreated to the car after church because I need a break from questions and conversations. However, the most difficult moments haven’t come during conversations; they’ve come during the worship service. God’s Word brings comfort, and the words of His people do as well. And when these are combined with music and lyrics that point me back to my Father, the tears threaten to spill over.
In these first weeks I’m learning that this grief looks and feels vastly different from the grief I walked through after my home invasion in South Africa. However, I’m also learning that God still brings comfort through His Word, through prayer, through worship, and through His people. I’ve returned to the feeling of uncertainty that comes when the unexpected occurs. I’ve returned to overwhelming emotions. I’ve returned to questions that won’t be answered here on earth. And I’ve returned to clinging to my Father with all that I have.
Only this time, in spite of the differences, I feel better prepared. As though I have a sliver of an idea of how to walk through the pain and the anguish and the questions. I also have an incredible husband by my side. And he has been a steady, calm rock over the last month. He has listened to me. He has held me. He has been a safe person to cry in front of. He has made decisions when I haven’t been able to. And I can’t imagine walking through these last weeks without him by my side. If there’s one thing we’ve learned in our ten years of marriage, it’s that nothing brings us closer together than trials. So while we wish we weren’t walking this dark valley together, we are still thankful for how God is already using it to strengthen our marriage.
The waves continue to crash. The tears continue to fall. And God continues to use all things for His glory and my good.
For those of you who are wondering about the cause of my grief, my brother passed away suddenly last month. I’m one of many who are grieving his death, but I will only be sharing my journey of grief in this space.
















































