May We Grieve.

May we never let grief become the elephant in the room.

I'll be turning 35 in a few days.  It will be yet another birthday passing in my life without my Momma here to celebrate it with me.  And believe me, she was good at celebrating her family.  She always made a big deal about us, and made us feel like the most important people in the room.  It's just another birthday I wish she were here for.  But she isn't. 

Sometimes, I just don't say a lot about what grief *feels* like.  (Even though I know there are no words that truly express all of it.)  I don't say everything, because let's be honest, some people just don't like to hear about it, and nobody can change that.  I have noticed over the years that many in the realm of religion have gotten really good at distracting from grief, and just how raw it really is.  I think many in the camp of Christianity have gotten good at being great distractors.  Maybe nobody wants to hear about the fact that the tears just flow for someone who would give anything to have their loved one back.  Maybe someone doesn't care to be sad at the moment, because it takes up too much energy.  Maybe someone doesn't want to hear all the "negativity" associated with grief.  (Believe me, how I wish we who grieve could merely flip a switch and turn off the "negativity" of our loved one being dead!!!)  Maybe it is easier to just not give someone the time of day who lives with grief.  "If only they'd *fill in the blank*.......it would help them get over their grief."  (The mere words "get over their grief" highlight the unsolvable problem of living with it.)

If that is you, if you just don't have it in you to hear about grief, then please carry on, because if that's the case, I love you...but I am not writing for you.

If you wish you could have the arms of your Momma around you right now, if you long to hear your Daddy's voice in your ears, if you crave the kiss of your spouse, if you'd give anything to hold your child again....YOU, dear one , are the one I write for.

When I think about the heavy, heavy, heavy burden of grief---one that we did not choose, but chose us---I write about it.  As best as I can.  For you.  I dive into these deep and lonely places and try to find some words to describe just an inkling of this pain, so you can simply know you are not alone.  You are not.  There are so many of us who know this absence.  I have no answers to offer, no deep knowledge about God, no neat platitude to tell you. 

I just offer myself and my story, so you can know you are not alone.  And you are so dearly loved. 

May we grieve.  May we let those we know grieve.  And may we love well, enough to allow room for the hurt that death leaves us with.  *Grief hurts.*