That One More Step

As a widow of over four and a half years, I’ve read a lot of material intended to help bereaved people cope with the myriad feelings that come with loss, especially during the holidays. Unfortunately, much of this advice is almost useless—if not a shade callous. Like the article I read on another site that advised you “not to invite grief for the holidays.”

What do these “experts” advise instead?

“Focus on the good, and forget the bad and the sad.”

Or, “Honor your loved one’s memory by doing ______ (you name the ritual).”

Or, “Look for signs that they’re okay and they’re watching out for you.”

You get the idea.

Now, don’t get me wrong. All these things can be comforting, especially to people who have a skewed idea of what happens after death: i.e., the many, many people out there (even Catholics, a puzzler) who assume we all go to heaven, regardless. Or that when your loved one dies, he or she gets “wings” and becomes an “angel.” Or any one of a hundred other nonsensical notions put forth by our culture, well-meaning spiritual writers, or folks who are—as Jimmy Stewart puts it in It’s a Wonderful Life—a little “off their nut.”

News flash: You’re not ever going to have to invite grief anywhere. It’s going to be there. Regardless.  

Resolving to concentrate on “the good times” isn’t going to keep it entirely at bay. Of course, you remember the good times. And you want them back.

That’s part of grief. One that frustrates and angers more of us than we ever admit.

Determining to be “in the present” isn’t going to banish those blues completely, either. It does help. But then, there’s the moment when the “present” event stops, and you go back to the life you have...in which there’s still a lot of “past” that lingers behind, and can “ambush” you when you least expect it.

That’s another part of grief. One that our culture hastens you to “get over”...not knowing (or caring) that that’s a pipe dream.

You’re not going to “get over” it.

Because that’s not how this thing works.

You’re going to live the life you have now, as best you can. And, yes, you’re going to have moments of sheer happiness and joy—maybe a lot of days or weeks or months in a row of happiness and joy.

But you’re also going to have days when, in your mind and heart, it’s pointless to go on.

And that’s when you learn what recovering and healing is really about:

That one more step.

That one more minute. That one more hour. That one more day.

That one, small thing you accomplish that seems so trivial that a professional counselor would raise his/her eyebrows at it....and you certainly aren’t going to share it on social media.

The part that’s down in the trenches, where no one else but God sees.

It, too, is part of healing. Along with the Irish wakes, and the “celebrations of life,” and the “getting out and being with people,” and the “keeping busy,” and everything else we do to deliberately conjure smiles. It’s a package deal; you don’t get one without the other.

And it doesn’t have an expiration date.

This is important to remember. Because our culture says grief “ought to” have one.

Six months, maybe, people will give you.  

But after a year?  

Or when you’re going on five years, as I am now?

You expect it to be over. (I did!) And there are very few people you can tell that it isn’t, because they’ll immediately start using the “w” word around you. You know the one. “Wallowing.”

If you’re seeing this “extension” of grief and wondering “what’s wrong with” someone in your life who’s still missing a lost spouse—even or especially yourself—I’m here to, lovingly, tell you to knock it off.

Fairly early in this mission, a dear friend of mine had a much more compassionate idea. She would send me texts like this:

“Are you upright? Washed? Dressed? Hair combed? Buttoned and zippered, with your underwear inside your clothing? Fed yourself and your cat? Bills being paid? Good. You’re doing great. Hang in there.”

She still sends me these things now and then.

And I still appreciate them.

Because sometimes, that’s all you need expect of yourself when you’re in a season of life that you never wanted to live in, that you probably weren’t prepared for, and that the world around you doesn’t encourage you to acknowledge.

It's not “wallowing.”

It’s not “inviting” grief, as if that feeling is only present when we “allow” it to be.

Sometimes, it’s a full day’s work. In itself.

Because the only way out, as the old saying goes, is through.

That one more step at a time.

And it’s enough.