A dear friend wrote to me consistently for a solid year after our daughter’s passing. At first, the letters came every, single day. Then, at least once a week. As I read her words about her kids, her house, a recent snowfall, or the hawk that follows her on morning walks, I felt taken in, pulled close – away from grief’s chilly isolation – easy, normal conversation that invited me away from my world of pain, into her everyday life.
Mostly she just shared about her day, the kids, or things God was showing her. She rarely addressed my loss and it was refreshing. But, every once in a while, she spoke of Kinsey, expressing her own sorrow that she was gone. She would share with me how Kinsey impacted her and her children and that tears still flow when they think and speak of her. Her words ministered to me, validated my great loss, and reassured me that Kinsey will never be forgotten.
Grief is irrational, unpredictable, and frustratingly erratic. Some days I would have a seemingly “normal” day and other days were completely overwhelming. There was no rhyme or reason to it – it’s a hallmark of the grief journey.
That’s what I loved about the letters. I got them, I read them, I laughed, cried or both and I felt taken in, cared for, thought of. BUT, I didn’t have to initiate or respond. At the time, there was no emotional currency for either.
Loving people who are experiencing deep grief often requires us to find creative and meaningful ways to minister – without overwhelming them – without requiring anything of them – understanding their need to isolate. My friend mastered this. Her letters were a lifeline to me when I was drowning in unimaginable sorrow.
By: Kristine Morgan
~Christ Fellowship