I have heard so many people in their grief journey repeat the same stories time and again. Because I’ve been there, I’m patient. Even as I surveyed my old journals of 2003 and 2004, I was reminded of this important and crucial facet of the grief process.
Grief is a love process without outlet; except that is for sadness, tears, and tired stories. It’s so true. And this has to be given increased profile and trajectory in our time, for grief is a part of each of our lives for determinate and appointed times.
Love, and you must lose, eventually.
Yet, what is life without love? It’s not life.
I recall being so tired of reeling out the same stories so repetitively with my parents, I would go and repeat variations of the same narratives of loss to any who would listen — spoken and written. Little doubt I had many mentors in those heady days. I thank God for the grace of their patience.
I would often wonder, ‘why are these people so patient with me when I’m so impatient with myself…?’ My impatience stemmed from the pain I would feel in recounting these depressing stories, yet I felt compelled to share — and I’m so glad I felt compelled, because vocalising is one sure way to process it.
Strangely that is how God was healing me. He was giving me the avenue of purging. And the pain I felt was simply love not being met, and yet I was met in those loving, listening ears of my mentors of the time — the hands, hugs, eyes, ears and tears of God’s care.
The greatest gift we can give the grieving is the gift of our listening without judgment, opinion or advice — our ‘wisdom’ (that seems right in our eyes) they can often do without. This listening takes place in the awkward fissures of faith, the exact place none of us likes going; that awkward space that the Holy Spirit loves to fill. God is in the listening. He meets us there, if we’re there focused on the person in our midst.
We do more by intransigent silence, by the empathy of our sorrow with theirs, by mourning with those who mourn, by matching their mood, even in fits of hysterical laughter when those times come.
So, if you’re grieving and you find such frustration in the repetition of the season, go gently at this time. Learn the sweetness of grace that says you can do no wrong by repeating the same sordid narrative ad nauseam.
God has a purpose in this repetition. We need free access to this expression. These repetitive processes are necessary for our healing, even if they do make us mad at the time — “Why am I hear once again?! Grrr.” You are here because you’re here.
Grief always seems to take too long,
but that is the nature of adjusting to loss.
Take the risk of faith to be kind and generous to yourself at this time. What we do for healing doesn’t always make sense to us at the time. And that is faith; to journey forward trusting in what can seem bizarre. Allow yourself the freedom of expressing your grief repetitively.
You will know when you
no longer need to do it.
The season of grief is long, too long, outrageous in its length. Sounding like a broken record is part of the journey. It’s normal. Give yourself that freedom when an angel in skin willingly listens to you, and tells you for the umpteenth time, “It’s okay!”
Anger is a typical repetitive response in grief. It isn’t wrong if it is safely expressed. In grief, be gentle with yourself and others. Anger that hurts helps no one. But understand, anger and complaint are part of the journey — so don’t judge yourself.
Photo by Ian Froome on Unsplash
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