{worries & grief}

 

Years ago before & after I got married  & moved away from my family, my greatest fear was the day my mum or dad would call & say ‘the cancer is back.’ I thought about it frequently. I planned what I’d do. I envisioned how I’d crumple & How I’d call James, between gut wrenching sobs I’d say - I have to go home, my mum, it’s back. My brain would go out of control. And I’d envision  myself trying desperately to get to her. Frantically packing, getting on an airplane and then when we’d land, my phone would be buzzing with alerts that despite my very best valiant efforts, Mum had died, before I could get to her. These thoughts consumed me off and on for years. 

 Then one day I got a call. He said- It’s back. I crumpled. I cried my eyeballs out, I worried and I tried to convince myself it would somehow be okay. Jesus gave me the strength to stand up and I kept going because the thing you don’t know until it happens to you is that you.have.no.choice. You pick up your feet &  somehow your body keeps moving forward even when your world has abruptly been interrupted.The fear was still there. All the things. I worried a lot & I cried a lot & spent as much time with her as possible. And then one day my brother called and said- you really need to come home. So we did. We frantically, in a blurry fog of disbelief, booked tickets & friends packed our bags. We took the soonest flights we could find. We boarded the plane while the sun was still shining brightly in another land. Here It was black outside & yet, even in the dark,  I thought over & over- God will NEVER let my worst fear happen to me. He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t. We sat on the very back row of the airplane. Our seats didn’t even recline because the wall was there, holding us up I guess. We flew over the green mountains & blue ocean,  & underneath the cloudy sky. Cloudy, bits of blue, heavenly sky. Then we descended into LAX.  The screech of the wheels hitting the tarmac hadn’t happened yet but the buzzes & beeps from my phone had. I was Holding my 6 month old baby, staring at my phone, Not believing what it said. Then in the most painfully feeble wail/cry I could muster I looked at James and said - she died. And I crumpled. Again. The life completely knocked out of me. A shell of who I’d  been when flying under that blue sky 20 minutes prior. I sobbed, thankful for the roar of the brakes & engines that drowned out my weeping at least from most of the passengers. The plane came to a stop & then do you know know what I did, I stood up with my husband & little girls & I walked, because apparently they don’t let you stay sitting on the airplane even if your mom literally just died. You have to keep moving, even when you are certain you surely can not move another inch. But what nobody can physically see is Jesus is right there with you. Even when you feel angry at your circumstances and you feel angry at Him for letting your worst fears happen, he’s still there. Especially when we are weak & broken-hearted. He’s promised to never leave us of forsake us & that is how I got off that airplane. That is how I boarded the next one & didn’t panic. That is how I boarded that elevator at Tom Baker Cancer Centre for unit 57. That is how I walked into that dark, stuffy, familiar hospital room filled with my siblings  and flung myself on her still, precious body and sobbed like the little girl I was. Jesus. That’s how. He carried me. The whole entire way. 

 I know I’m not the only one who worries and lays awake at night planning what ifs and when’s. I also know the one who watches over us never sleeps and now I know that even when your worst fear happens in real life, you will survive. It will knock you flat, you will cry, you will bang your fists on the wall. You will lay on the floor and weep like you have never before. The shower will be your haven. The salty, sobbing tears, drowned out by the constant stream of hot healing water.  Nobody will see this side of your grief. Maybe the ones who live in your home but maybe not even them. They will bear the brunt of your grief, your sadness might come out in anger or impatience. It might come out in absolutely no energy, or in being so busy just to try and hide the pain. Nobody grieves the same. 

 But you will survive. One day you will be laying in bed & realize you didn’t cry that day, one day you will laugh out loud, a belly laugh that makes the happy tears fall,  & it will feel so good. But It might come with some guilt, because maybe nobody has told you this little secret about grief - it’s okay to laugh. Laughing doesn’t mean you aren’t still really really sad. Laughing doesn’t mean ‘you are over it’. On the days you don’t cry, that’s okay. Not crying doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten them. Not crying doesn’t mean you’re healed & back to normal. (Normal shnormal) Usually it just means that you are learning to live your life around your grief, it’s part of you. A good part though. With out love, there isn’t grief. Grief is love. Think of it as a pet or a friend. It’s right there, beside you always. Following you around, but even though it’s there you can still laugh & smile & start to find joy in things again. 

 I’m not a grief expert but what I know is this- Your absolute worst fears may come true. Spending time worrying about them, as you can tell from my own experience, did not help me even a speck. They still happened & yet, with Jesus, I survived. Now, I sometimes say to myself (in my moments of feeling brave-ish ) why worry? My worst fears happened & look at me! I’m.still.standing. with Jesus holding me up.