Good Grief

I can't write about grief.

I don't know about it.  I have not experienced such a painful loss of a parent, or a spouse, or a child firsthand, so I just am unable to write about it.  Sure, I have experienced sadness.  Yes, I've lost my grandparents, a pet, a friend.  I've even suffered through the devastation of an early miscarriage of a baby we wanted with all our hearts. 

But the unimaginable hole left by someone so close to you, you know their very thoughts, I - blessedly - do not know that pain. 

My husband knows it.  He is experiencing it now, and will be for the rest of his life.  I can only stand beside him and weep with the frustrated helplessness of someone who wants so badly to fix something that only our God can heal.  A broken heart.

When his mother phoned us early yesterday morning with the news, we were only able to lie in stunned silence holding onto each other in our bed, where only moments before we were enjoying the blissful slumber of ignorance.  After that phone call, and the two simple words that changed everything, "Dad's gone", our minds raced, and then went silent.  We awoke from the remains of a fitful sleep in the morning, expecting the world to be another color.

It wasn't.

Everything was the same.  Babies woke up and needed to be fed.  Grass needed to be mowed.  Bills needed to be paid.

How can everything be the same?  And yet, so different?

We woke up to a world without Chris' Daddy.  His business partner.  His counselor.  His mentor.  His prayer warrior.  His role model.  His best friend.

My children's beloved Grandad.

Thankfully, blessedly, providentially, Daryl Thomas was a faithful Christian.  A man of God.  A Believer.  Saved from the time he was a young child.  We have no doubt of his eternity.  No qualms whatsoever about the celebration and festivities taking place this very moment at the feet of Jesus.  We know he had no fear and no trepidation about his own passing, knowing he'd be healthy and well and spending forever with the One Who has loved him always.

We just have to adjust now to life here without him.  The hole his absence has created in our family.  A hole that will no doubt be filled with the healing Spirit of the Lord over time. 

Chris' mom, Patti, told me once during a particularly deep conversation about Daryl, "Sarah, grief is just something you just have to go through.  You can't avoid it.  You can't go around it, under it, or over it.  You just have to go through it".

One final note.  Daryl was an avid banjo player, and took great pleasure in the beauty and authentic spirit of bluegrass music.  During his hospitalization, we would play it for him on the CD player at his bedside, and it always seemed to bring a calm and peaceful stillness over him.  In later days, one of the last times we saw him feeling like his old self, Chris put a song in for him, and - even though he was virtually unable to talk or communicate at this point, and we weren't sure how much he could understand - when he heard it, he actually sang this song, word for word, in its entirety.  With a big smile on his face.

We have taken great comfort in the words to this song in recent days, and it will be sung by a gospel soloist at the service celebrating the great life of this great man tomorrow:

I'll Fly Away

I'll Fly Away

Some glad morning when this life is o'er,

I'll fly away.

To a home on God's celestial shore,

I'll fly away.

I'll fly away, O Glory, I'll fly away.

When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,

I'll fly away.

When the shadows of this life have flown,

I'll fly away.

Like a bird thrown, driven by the storm,

I'll fly away.

I'll fly away, O Glory, I'll fly away.

When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,

I'll fly away.

Just a few more weary days and then,

I'll fly away.

To a land where joy shall never end,

I'll fly away.

I'll fly away, O Glory,

I'll fly away.

When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,

I'll fly away.

 
Rest in peace, Grandad. We miss you so. Save a spot for us. We'll join you in the celebration one day.
 
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