On Grief

These are just raindrops.

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Raindrops in a rather sizable puddle outside my front door. I must have looked like a crazy person, crouched on my front stoop in a thunderstorm – a full blown downpour – with my moderately expensive camera equipment in hand, snapping like a madwoman.

I love these photos. The longer you look at them, the more you see. They start to look a lot bigger than raindrops in a puddle, don’t they?

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That’s sort of what grief is like. At least, what it’s been like for me.

There are days of full blown downpour. But there are sunny days and cloudy days too. And then there are days that the tiniest drop of rain in the ocean of other things you’re dealing with feels like a tsunami. And it’s all you can do just to keep your head above the water. Keep treading. Hope for a lifeboat. Or a raft. Or even a moment to catch your breath.

The truth is– it’s just rain. And on some level, you know that. But it feels like it will never, ever stop.

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One thing I’ve learned as I’ve been processing the loss of this little one is that people mean well but they typically just have no idea what to say unless they’ve been through it too.

It isn’t my intention to write you a novel on grief or miscarriage.

But I will say this. Grief isn’t linear. It’s not something you can chart and watch the trend gradually improving in a steady and predictable way over time.

It’s deeper than that. And it’s so difficult. And there’s so much more going on below the surface.

So please. Be careful. Be kind. Think before you speak to your grieving friend – is what you’re about to say to her actually helpful? Or is it going to take her places in her mind that she just can’t go right now? Do you have the kind of relationship where that level of intimacy is normal? If the answer to that last question is no, perhaps you should consider finding other ways of comforting her. Pray for her. Bring her a meal. Clean her bathroom. Mop her floors. These are some of the greatest gifts you can give a grieving mother and require no knowledge or understanding of her pain.

Just love her. Gentle, unassuming kindness can help to heal the deepest wounds. The tiniest drop of grace in the wilderness is the sweetest water of all.

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And if that grieving woman is you, know that you’re not alone in it. I’m right there with you. And I hope these next few words wash over you like a summer storm after months of drought.

“We serve a God who fulfills his promises and it is his delight to reveal himself amidst a swirl of troubles. He calls us to be still and wait patiently, and in his goodness, even gifts us with the faith to do so (Eph 2:8). Even before the floodwaters swell over our head He has already prepared a safe passage.” – Rebecca Faires, She Reads Truth

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3 thoughts on “On Grief

  1. Hi Katie, Have wanted to tell you that I like your blog title “Coffee Time with Katie” as I just read this post while sipping a freshly ground and poured over cup of the stuff. I am so sorry for your loss. I did not know until reading this post. My prayer is that you will see glimpses of His grace in today to meet you right where you are.

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