Losing a Child
The unimaginable grief
There is something inherently wrong with losing a child. The order of life turns on its axis and the associated grief incredibly intense. Grief not only for the precious one lost but also for the hopes and dreams others carried for them. It is a grief unimaginable for those of us without children of our own.
Understandably, many people become bitter and hardened by the experience and they never quite struggle free. The injustice of their loss stains them to their core and without their permission, it cannot be washed clean. They wrestle for a lifetime with impossible notions like, why? They get angry with the world, with people, with higher powers and whilst this may help direct the overwhelming emotion, it can never bring about true peace.
Yet, others embrace their grief with a faith that fuels an eternal hope, allowing them to breathe, to move forward and make peace with the injustice bestowed upon them. It is not to excuse or ignore the circumstances, rather, to provide a space for grief to morph into purposeful emotion that ushers in peace and restores joy.
I recently bore witness to such a response to the loss of a child and have been both incredibly inspired and deeply challenged by it. Could I respond with such dignity, faith and grace, in the same set of circumstances? Or would I become bitter and twisted by the sheer injustice of it all? If I am honest, I fear the latter.
Receiving late night phone calls from a friend always comes with some degree of foreboding. What’s happened? On this occasion, my friend told me that their son had just died suddenly from an asthma attack whilst playing basketball and could not be revived. The strain in his voice brought about by shock and disbelief was painfully evident. An otherwise healthy, precious 11 year old boy was gone. Just like that.
For the next few weeks, we had the immense privilege of sitting quietly with our friends in a space of intense grief. Making sense of the situation is our hearts greatest desire in order to survive in that moment, but often there are simply no answers. One must walk that road minute by minute, breath by breath, holding the uncomfortable burden of uncertainty. The pain of realisation that your son will no longer inhabit your physical world, too much to bare that our bodies anaesthetise themselves.
During this acute phase of grief, there is little you can do to make anything better. You may have the most profound words of wisdom, yet they cannot penetrate the chaos and confusion to be of any use. You can keep busy by cooking, cleaning and making oneself useful but this also impacts the sacred space of those who grieve. Sometimes, the only thing to do is to sit quietly and listen gently.
As we watched our friends navigate this maze of overwhelming emotion, having to make critical decisions and entertain the dozens of people who came through their doors to offer condolences, I was deeply moved. Though they were hurting, they comforted others. Though life was uncertain, they rested upon the certainty of their faith. Though they did not want to be afflicted, they placed their trust on the word of God. Every response they had was counterintuitive to what would otherwise be deemed a reasonable grief response. The strength, the faith, the outward focus in caring for others in the midst of their darkest days… I’ve never seen anything quite like it and it has challenged me to evaluate my life and faith perspective.
The family asked that I sing at the funeral. They requested a powerful modern arrangement of the hymn, 'It is Well with my Soul’. I understood this choice as a prophetic utterance but I am not ashamed to admit that I wrestled with it. I rehearsed it with anger and vengeful determination. How can it be well when it is clearly so wrong! I fought it, singing it, screaming it, over and over like going 12 rounds in a boxing ring…until it forced me to submit… and surrender to it.
We sing things into being.
We sing that ‘it is well’ until it is so. We sing things into being with unwavering commitment and consistency until the affirmation becomes truth.
Singing at the funeral was challenging. One doesn’t expect to sing farewell to an 11 year old child. It felt surreal and unnatural. In order to perform my role at times like this, I go to a place within myself that accepts I have a job to do and I can withstand the waves of emotion. On this occasion, it was made profoundly difficult as I gazed upon my dear friends, sobbing as they held each other in the front row, the first moment they allowed their grief to flow freely. This outpouring gave permission to all those attending to express their own grief openly, as the song comforted them and offered hope.
This song became the battlecry of our collective hearts. ❤️
No answers may be found, no sense made of all of this. I offer no guidance as to how to traverse this mountain. The only thing I do know, is that in the midst of it all, we have a voice that offers us a means by which to express pain. We have a choice to make… shut down, lock our emotions up in silence and become bitter or sing through the pain, songs which offer hope, which reset our internal narrative and encourage release of intense emotion.
As our friends adjust their lives without their beloved son, there will be times of immeasurable despair, but they will sing ‘it is well with my soul’.
We love you Joshy. 😢