Grieving with hope…

I miss my father so very much. His absence is hitting me so very hard. I’m writing this as I’m in the UK. I’ve come for a work trip and have had some great discussions with colleagues. It has been good to connect with them in person. I’ve also had some really special catch ups with very old friends who came out to meet me (it’s not been possible for me to meet with many others). Everyone has been a real balm to the soul. There have been some moments where they’ve commiserated with me. I’ve appreciated this because it isn’t easy to sit with someone in their grief. They gave me this space. There have been laughs, some good food, reminders of British weather that perhaps caused more laughs, some walks in pretty little places and some good conversations.

This trip has been a good change of scene on the one hand and on the other, it has brought up a deep pain from within. I’m missing my dad because I now can’t call home. In the past, I’d have called at every single point – from my arrival to the airport, to the point of dropping off my luggage, to clearing the first round of immigration, etc. Papa was genuinely keen to know. He’d ask me to call. The sense of loneliness that’s engulfing me as I experience this loss is so hard to explain. Perhaps my parents spoilt me. Almost eighteen years ago, when mum passed on, I felt the strain of her loss on our home. It took a lot of getting used to but I still had certain things: I could, for instance, call home. It was different, but I could call home. Papa would answer. Now I can’t. My heart feels so very heavy with this grief and part of me wonders how to bear it. I’ve not been able to report back every day on how it’s been – not the way I’m used to. I’ve not been able to share little joys I’ve felt during this time of travel. Whilst I find things pretty, I’m strangely underwhelmed by it all. I fly back soon and there’s no dad awaiting me with eagerness. By now, any phone conversation would be littered with my going home. I have only little Gamora to hug so very tightly this time and whilst I am grateful for the welcome I’ll have from her, it feels incomplete. I miss my dad.

I’m finding this so very hard right now. In many ways, I think that even feeling this sadness and being able to advocate space for myself to grieve, has been a blessing. When mum died, too many voices tried to drown out the grief process. It was unhelpful and rather unhealthy. I know that the loneliness Jesus felt on the cross far exceeds anything I’m feeling or will ever feel. I also know that the grief felt in the loss of His Father through the total abandonment on the cross is on a scale greater and deeper than anything that I’m capable of feeling. I know. I believe it is because of this loneliness, this grief of separation and loss, this pain so searing and great that Jesus felt, those of us who believe in Him will never experience it permanently. My mum believed in Jesus. My dad believed in Jesus. They taught me to believe in Jesus. I know this means a day when there is no more pain. It doesn’t mean there is no time to grieve now. It is the time of grief and dark days for me for awhile, perhaps. It may be for longer than I hope. However, I know that I will rejoice in being reunited with my parents once again.

This is how I grieve: I’m crying painful, hot tears right now because of my present circumstances. Yet, I’m hopeful even now, with this assurance given to me by a God so big and gracious, that my tears will be wiped away. I can only await the day.