Grief and gratitude: dealing with loss

My dad loved lutefisk. It's unusual that people do, and even more unusual that he did. My dad was born and raised in Japan and immigrated by himself to the United States at the age of 19. But when he was introduced to the technique of eating lutefisk he understood you have to put something on it to make it slide down easier because you don't want to make the rookie mistake of trying to chew. Most use butter, but Dad used soy sauce.

My parents were near the age of 40 when I came along, and Mom had lost a few pregnancies prior to my arrival. So this made me an only child and it was great! I didn't ever have to share my room and never experienced wearing a hand-me-down. My parents spoiled me, particularly in love and attention. The biggest downside was when I did something wrong, I had no one else to blame. It was an idyllic childhood.

Fast forward to Jan. 2, 2016. We had just celebrated Christmas at my parent's house in Minnesota. We were back home and I got a phone call. Mom had some weakness in her left arm and went to the ER. The breast cancer she had beaten twice before, and supposedly had less than a ten percent chance of recurrence was back. This time it had spread to her lungs, liver and brain— A terminal diagnosis. Two weeks later my dad, who had advanced dementia, was hospitalized and later moved to an assisted living facility.

Mom's disease progressed and she landed in a rehab unit on hospice. So in 2016 on June 13 in room 103 at 9:13 p.m., I sat with my mom, just the two of us, and held her hand as she took her last breath. Three months and one day later, on Sep. 14, I sat alone with my dad in a hospital room and held his hand as he took his last breath at 11:35 p.m. It's a life-altering moment to watch someone you love pass away. it's really a small part of their life, a bookend, but it changes everything.

A few months went by and I knew I had to start cleaning out their house. It was packed full of memories from the 37 years they spent there. Dad's slippers were by the front door, a basket of laundry in their bedroom, folded and ready to be worn by people who no longer lived there. I was by myself and decided to clear out their pantry. It seemed like the softest way to start. I was a complete mess as I threw away stale cereal and sorted cans of vegetables. It was confusing and surprising— how hard can it be to let go of a can of soup?

That night helped me understand what grief is and what it isn't. I wasn't crying over the Jell-O, the Hamburger Helper or the jar of pickles. I was crying because of the relationship I saw between a pantry and my parent's lives. That food was purchased with the intent that my parents would be eating it together, in that house.

When we grieve we don't grieve over that person, that event, that action. We grieve because our relationship with it has changed in a way that pains us. We mourn what was or what could be.

My faith tells me my parent's healing is not something to grieve. They were so sick, and now they are not. But I do mourn the relationship I want to have with them, that I know they hoped to have with their granddaughters. It's still a struggle. Some days the cut feels so fresh.

If there was ever a time I wished for a sibling, it was planning the funerals and cleaning out Mom and Dad's house. You wish you could look beside you and re-live memories in that family room, on that porch, sitting at that kitchen table. I wanted to talk to someone who had that shared memory, who knew what it was like to live at 8411 Red Pine Lane. Grief can so easily isolate you.

Grief transcends into gratitude when we start acknowledging what is instead of focusing on what we want it to be. Living in abundance, in gratitude, helps you to see what you are "left with" is not less valuable or important because it's not what you wanted.

Grief is healthy, it is necessary, it needs to be acknowledged. But it is not a place we are called to stay. Gratitude is born from faith, hope and love— And it can be born from grief.

Just like Dad needed soy sauce to make that lutefisk go down a little easier, we need gratitude to swallow the difficulties we encounter in this life. Don't ignore the difficulties you face, no matter how small or insignificant they seem to you or others. Understand how you can be nourished by them. In the words of Paul to the Thessalonians: In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you (1 Thessalonians 5:18).

C.S. Lewis said hardship often prepares an ordinary person for an extraordinary destiny.

Thank God we don't have to experience the hardship alone.

“My flesh and my heart fail; But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."

- Psalm 73:26

Editor’s Note: This article is an excerpt from a sermon offered by Good Shepherd member Rachael Brash at the Chapel of the Word worship service at the University of Mary on Nov, 5, 2018.