It Finally Happened

It finally happened.

It was so gradual that I didn't realize what was occurring.

It had been such a part of my for so long that it had become a part of me.

But over time, it faded, almost as imperceptible as the erosion of the tide on the beach.

Grief left.

It no longer defines my life.

If you spent the afternoon with me, you might not even notice that it was there. But it was an unwelcome resident, lurking underneath the surface and coloring everything around me. I looked at life through a dark lens, waiting for the pain to suck the life out of me again at any moment and without warning.

Let me give you a little history. The first five years of my marriage were rocky. Not because my husband and I fought, but because we were bombarded by grief.

Two months before my wedding, my sister passed away at the age of 38.

Then, coming home from our honeymoon, we stepped off the plane, climbed into the car, and went to the hospital, where my father-in-law lay with an unknown illness that would later be diagnosed as a remarkably rare form of cancer that would eat away at his body for the next two years before he passed away.

Those two years were marked by trips to the emergency room, stays in the hospital, chemo treatments, late night phone calls and early morning tears on the way to work as I yelled at God for inflicting such pain on such a godly, generous, gentle man.

In the midst of that chaotic life, my husband and I tried and failed at conceiving a child, even with the help of fertility specialists. So we decided to adopt.

Finally, the clouds seemed like they were beginning to break as we began planning for the arrival of a child from Guatemala. Matched with a child in May, we planned to go to her native country over the 4th of July.

We never made that trip. The mother of that child proved to be HIV positive and that adoption was pulled by attorneys in Guatemala. A month later, on the 9th of August, we were matched with another child.

Five days later, my mother died.

Grief made itself at home in my heart. Multiple losses combined with infertility and a failed adoption created a chasm in my heart that I though would never completely be whole again. I thought I would always jump when the phone ring. I imagined that I would always panic when Jim was a few minutes late. I thought I would always slightly distrust a God who would bring that much pain into a family so young.

But a couple of nights ago, I realized that grief no longer ruled the roost.

Our pastor was preaching from 2 Corinthians 2:14, which in the KJV says, “Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ…” Our pastor was trying to encourage a congregation that has suffered huge losses in the floods of Nashville this month. In discussing the verse, he made a statement that completed the circuit of loss for me: “We will always overcome, but not necessarily immediately.”

That’s when I realized it—Grief had not overcome me. It had not permanently scarred me without hope of healing. I am still in the healing process. I still jump when the phone rings late at night and my mind races in a thousand directions, wondering who is hurt or who has died. Grief has left its mark on me and I am a different person because of it, but I am still standing.

Gradually, imperceptibly, without notice, I have overcome the losses. Not alone, but with a loving husband who reminds me to relax, faithful friends who make me laugh and give me perspective, and a stubborn God who just keeps coming for me matter how many walls I try to erect between the two of us.

And this blog is my psalm of worship to Him.