I want to tell you the story of my encounters with grief and what I have learned over the past year. I hope it helps any of you in a similar situation.

My mother died at 42 after a long battle with ovarian cancer. I was 13, my sister was 15. My brother was married and expecting their first child. Each of us bore our grief differently.

My father took the death as hard as anyone in love with his wife would, but his upbringing and personality caused him to take refuge in the daily tasks and accomplishments that would order his mind and provide for his family. His sense of purpose gave him the time to let his emotions heal almost behind the scenes, quietly and without fanfare. He admitted to us later that he thought he had been cold and unfeeling during that time. Perhaps he was battered by grief enough to feel disconnected, but we saw him as kind and compassionate. We sensed his withdrawal, but my sister and I were withdrawn, too.

My brother’s grief was devastated him, but his wife was wise and caring and helped him through it. I don’t remember seeing them much in those days.

My sister found the grief overwhelming and cried through the night for weeks. She couldn’t attend school, saw a psychiatrist for a while, and kept my father from sleeping while she sobbed at his bedside.

I was appalled with my sister, to the point that hearing crying made me angry for many years. I became a clone of my father in many ways, mimicking his detachment and focusing on function. The grief sat unresolved inside of me and I didn’t know it.

This last year, my stepmother of 39 years (Mamma) was diagnosed with untreatable, terminal cancer. I was assaulted physically by my grief, ending up in the physician’s office concerned about heart palpitations. After eliminating my heart as a health risk, I got some strong talk from the Dr about taking care of myself. He suggested anti-anxiety drugs. I tried something different.

My husband gave me a period of grace to “cocoon” myself from the world. I spent a week mostly in my bedroom with no responsibilities but to find a place in the arms of Jesus. I read the Word, prayed, played the guitar, took walks, decaffeinated myself, turned off the TV, and got a lot of sleep.

In the middle of this time I found an unusual cry vocalized straight out of my heart: “God, I HATED it when my mother died!”

Where did that come from? Of course, the anticipation of watching my stepmother die had reopened the wound from my mother’s death. I had NEVER been honest about how painful it was. When I first became a Christian, I at least was able to say that I missed my mother, but that was the extent of my honesty. I now had to face the childhood wound and mourn the death of both mothers.

The first time I visited Mamma after her diagnosis, I really didn’t want to go – yet I knew I needed to. Mamma was a Christian, but struggled with doubt and emotional instability. I had no idea how her fear of death and pain would exacerbate that. What I found was a woman who took the time to speak to our family from her heart in a way she never had. She expressed appreciation and admiration for us. She spoke with new gentleness. She was honest in a way we had never seen.

I went in fearful, and went home so impressed with God that I cranked up the CD player and drove for three hours singing with the windows down, wind blowing in my hair and hope growing deep inside.

How had God done this miracle in Mamma? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. What I DID care about was that I could face death with Mamma as believing adults, and await her home going with hope.  

Each person bears grief differently. We have to give the respect of allowing each one to surface in their own time, in their own manner, with their own conclusions. Be kind, offer time, offer meals, offer prayers. Be a true friend: be honest and let them be honest. For some people talking is the only release, others, like Job, want silent companionship. Let your grieving friend tell you what it right for them, and don’t push for healing faster than they can receive it.

Watch for signs that the grief has turned to depression. There may be someone who specializes in grief counseling or prayer counseling that can step in to help. The key here is honesty with the griever. Let them know your concerns and hear them out. Forcing someone to take action, unless they are endangering themselves or others, may break your relationship – and it may be the only healthy relationship they have.

Finally, be prepared for your own miracles as you watch the end of a Christian’s life. Truth will out, the Holy Spirit will mature His fruit, and relationships will deepen. Grace will be there for you to receive comfort from the Lord, even if you are angry. Let your honesty with God forge a new kind of friendship with Him, one where your emotions are open and the communication is real.

So how did my grief after Mamma’s death play out? I still cried, I still had to sorrow my father’s loss, I still spent several weeks feeling like I was wearing sunglasses, not seeing the colors brightly or the future clearly. But it passed, it passed. Some days it still visits me, but the sadness is from loss of companionship, not incapacitating grief.

And always expect the fulfillment of the scripture in regards to your grief:  It came to pass.

Article written my Malana Ganz