Secondary Grief

When you lose someone very close, you will grieve forever – or so it has been said.

I don't really agree with that statement . . . at least not just at face value.

The active grieving will fade as time passes – and, no, it is not time that heals all wounds – Only God heals our hearts – and only if we let Him. (We definitely can choose to hold onto our grief and live in it every day.) It is the natural process – the way God has wired us – that allows us to continue on after we have lost someone we love.  Though the active grieving subsides, there will still be 'moments' of grief that come and go.  I have been through this many times over.

Though I disagree with that opening statement, I do believe that loss changes a person – for better or for worse.  My theory is that that statement came about because of one of the changes that loss makes:   Loss creates a heightened sense of certain things.

About a dozen years ago, I had a strange injury at work – one that resulted ultimately in the surgical loss of the tip of my finger.  My surgeon assured me that the nerves were not cut – they were separated from the affected tissue and left intact.  From a medical standpoint, those nerves are whole.  However, those nerves are not 'normal' – at least not by the standard of what they used to be.   There is a new 'normal':

• Hot and cold don't feel the same – I don't always feel hot, and cold is very painful.
• I have mostly normal texture sensitivity – but not completely.
• Some days, it is numb.
• There are days it is incredibly stiff and uncooperative.
• There's that crazy phenomenon with weather changes irritating it....
• By far – the biggest change has been the pain-sensing aspect: If something pokes or bumps the tip of that finger, I definitely know it! The pain level is well beyond anything 'normal' – sometimes making the injury feel fresh again.

Most days, I don't give any thought to that finger – I simply go through life and do what I need to do.  There are adjustments, though.  If I really need to feel temperature, I have to use a different finger.   The same applies to when I need a careful texture sensitivity. If it gets bumped or poked in certain ways, I may need to stop what I had been doing for a while.   I may need to give my hand some extra attention by way of an ice pack, heat pack, or splint.  I may need to be very protective of it for a time to allow that heightened pain sensitivity to calm down.

Just as it is so with my post-injury finger, so are our lives post-loss. . . .

We are still here living our lives, but we have been altered in some ways with a heightened sensitivity.

There are people and situations we encounter that trigger responses and can make our grief feel 'fresh' again. 

Maybe someone near you is going through a situation similar to your experience – those feelings you had in your own experience may come rushing back in, and your grief feels fresh again.

Maybe you are 'tapped out' mentally and emotionally – your reserves are empty – when you learn of someone's difficult situation. Though you genuinely care, you feel nothing. Your emotions are numb to that.

Sometimes, it is an overload:  There are so many hurting people around you – and you truly want to empathize – and it is so very painful to do so. The overload may be such that you just . can't . emotionally invest.

Sometimes, though, you feel grieved for someone or something that is far removed from your personal loss; and yet it causes you to grieve your own loss anew. . . . That's where I have been at times this year.

Just as many others have done, I have been watching the events of this year; and my heart is grieved.

• I am grieved for our country and the direction I see it going.
• I am grieved as I see people living in fear.
• I am grieved to see lawless behavior not only happening (which is sad enough on its own), but being allowed to continue and even being applauded.
• I am grieved for those who have been affected by natural disasters.
• I am very deeply grieved for those in hospitals and care centers who have been denied the advocacy, love, and care from friends and family.

As I grieve for all of these – and more – I find that the grief of loss has been stirred.  I consider it a secondary grief – grief for my loss(es), yes; but a grief that is more prompted than purely natural -- Like my finger feeling newly injured when it has simply been bumped or poked.

Tears come much more easily these days.   That sense of loneliness has been a bigger battle this year.  Smaller matters feel much bigger some days.  Sometimes the overload hits, and I feel mentally and emotionally numb.  And to be completely honest, there are days I just plain don't want to cope with anything more.

When these times come, it is so very important to lean on the truths that we know.  I've written about it before – so much of how we go through life is a choice.  We have to choose to believe the things that we know – choose what we know over how we feel.  We choose to trust God.  We choose to believe what He has said.  We choose to live in His strength instead of our own.  We choose to be thankful for His goodness.

Whatever life brings, God enables us to go through it.

He has promised that He will work things together for good for those who love Him. (Romans 8:28)

He tells us that His strength is perfected in our weakness. (II Cor. 12:9)

He tells us that He will never leave us alone. (Heb. 13:5)

He tells us to give Him all that concerns us. (I Peter 5:7)

God's Word is full of these and so many more principles and promises.

In all that I encounter in life, I choose to be thankful for all that God has done and for the fact that He can be trusted.  In my hardest days, I lean more on Him -- He loves me, He cares for me, He strengthens me.  He is my Rock, my Fortress, my Guide.

I am far from perfect in this journey of life; but I am determined to continually refocus my gaze on my Heavenly Father, and I hope to encourage others to do the same.