“Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place. It pulls up the rotten roots, so that new roots hidden beneath have room to grow. Whatever sorrow shakes from your heart, far better things will take their place.” ~Rumi
 
“God is felt in places too deep for words, in depths beyond ideas and concepts. God is felt in pain and sorrow and contradiction. This, in itself, comes as a shock, since we tend to make religion only of our better moments. Our worst moments tend to be repressed and denied. When this happens, we begin to lie to ourselves; and when we lie, the fabric of life begins to fall apart.” ~Alan W. Jones, SoulMaking
 
“If we don’t grieve, we will become hard men.” ~Acholi Workshop Participant
 
 “So with you: Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice,
and no one will take away your joy.” ~ John 16:2

Tears spill as torn scraps of paper scatter into the wind and are carried out to sea. I am letting go of my attachment to victimhood, another layer of releasing the images that I cling to, that enslave my energy from loving God and others well. Even though my faith feels mustard seed size, I am loosening my clenched hands and turning toward God to be filled with His gift of pure grace. 
 
An ugly incident with my son a few days earlier sends me reeling into an ocean of sorrow and helplessness. Drawing the victim card again, I reinforce the story I tell myself about my helplessness and powerlessness that limits and weakens my perspective. The familiarity of retreat – my default position to nurse my wounds and wallow in self-pity – reinforces my futile responses. It now strikes me with brute force, how seeing myself as a victim of other people’s negative actions, even in the face of contrary evidence, takes an emotional toll and drains away any personal power.

Together, Barry and I stand on a rock face, high above the ocean. It is one of our favourite wild places where we holiday each summer. Both of us hold separate papers containing the beliefs and our old, complicit agreements, nurtured and reinforced by the enemy. Mine is to victimhood, to the belief that I suffer as a result of another’s actions and beliefs, that my hopes and plans are destroyed by others, that others limit me, and to the agreement that I will always be hurt and abandoned by those I love. I refuse to allow victimhood to diminish me any longer. No more do I want to hurt those I love by personalising and nursing their perceived injustices and retreating from them into hiding. I choose the God-given dignity of personal responsibility. For a moment, my heart reels with terror, for it knows this is impossible without Grace. Then, a gentle wind, the breath of the Holy Spirit, blows into my face and dries my tears. We tear our papers and release them to the wind and to God.

Source: https://i.ytimg.com/vi/AhoJNL8nkO0/maxresdefault.jpg

The first light of dawn in the inky sky is achingly beautiful. Hearts can break open when confronted with such beauty. All is silent as I sit on a bench savouring a cup of tea before attacking the task of packing up and leaving our beach home of the past three weeks. The birds have already begun welcoming the new day, singing even when surrounded by the darkness and terrors of night. The Holy Spirit brings Hebrews 11:1 to mind, “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” Like the birds, I ache to sing while it is still dark, when its terrors overwhelm me. My heart cracks open with a yearning for Heaven, for the end of all suffering and brokenness. I crave inner peace.
 
Yet, I know the time is not yet because, “God uses broken things. It takes broken soil to produce a crop, broken clouds to give rain, broken grain to give bread, broken bread to give strength. It is the broken alabaster box that gives forth perfume. It is Peter, weeping bitterly, who returns to greater power than ever” (Havner, cited in Batchelor, 2001, p. 185). God is calling me to make my home in His heart and to co-create with Him in the world I still inhabit. I am called to love. This realisation births something deep and precious in my heart. I God ask for a heart that is brave. I am not naturally brave and in response to my reluctance to enter this new year God says, “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go” (Joshua 1:9). I hunger to make these words mine, to lean into Him, knowing that it is the weak and feeble that God uses to build His kingdom.

Are Tears Really a Gift?
 
A war-traumatised Sri Lankan lady once told me, “I’m not strong enough to cry.” She instinctively knew that her stuck tears crippled and blocked her vulnerability and that healing would take time. She knew that eventually emotional pain would need to be deeply felt, real and present. Being strong enough to cry takes a kind of raw courage.
 
Grief can be understood as an emotional response to a painful event or experience. We witness the process of grief throughout the biblical narrative with many characters experiencing deep loss and grief: Job, Naomi, Hannah and David to name a few. Jesus also mourned after Lazarus died (John 11:35; Matthew 23:37-39). Loss and grief take many forms depending on individual differences, gender, family conditioning and cultural mores. Tears are a natural response to the realities of sin, pain and death. In fact, “Grief comes as a result of any change that requires a person to give up or let go of what they have enjoyed or loved or found meaningful” (Golden & Miller, 1998, p. 5). Grieving is a gradual letting go and acceptance, of coming to terms with a loss, attempting to make sense of it and gradually moving forward. Grieving encompasses a broad range of emotions and takes time.
 
Grief cannot be avoided, only delayed, disguised or sidestepped through distractions. Tears become a gift when grief opens our hearts to God, when unrealistic expectations of ourselves and others are discarded, when feeling responsible for the behaviour of others no longer traps us, when we can begin to let go of the desire to get even and when we begin to soak in God’s healing.
 
Types of Losses
 
Possibly the most painful loss emerges from the death of a loved one. However, loss can also occur from

• Pregnancy issues; for example, infertility, miscarriage, abortion, stillbirth, handicap or adoption;
• Health issues; for example, surgery, illness or injury;
• Victims of crime;
• Issues around employment; for example, loss of a job or changing jobs can cause loss;
• Disasters;
• Moving house or country, renovating;
• Death of a pet;
• Loss of a treasured object;
• Relationship losses; for example, a broken relationship, getting married, divorce, separation;
• Someone close changes;
• Leaving a group;
• Change in behaviour as children grow into adolescence;
• Children leaving home; for example, the loss of a role;
• Retirement; for example, loss of identity and meaning; and,
• Loss of dreams, ideals or purpose

Just as there are many types of losses, there are many types of grief that include:
 
Disenfranchised grief
 
Disenfranchised grief or ambiguous loss (Boss, 2006) is loss that is not socially sanctioned, openly acknowledged or publicly mourned (Doka, 2010). It is a form of complicated grief resulting from a loss that is not recognised nor acknowledged by others and society; for example, the loss of a friend, treasured pet or a missing person. Losing my dog after 17 years of companionship was a profound and painful loss for me. How do I honour this kind of grief when others laugh, smirk or diminish it? In disenfranchised loss the bereaved may be denied access to grief rituals, ceremonies or to the expression of sad feelings.
 
Chronic grief
 
Chronic grief consists of “a set of pervasive, profound, continuing, and reoccurring grief responses resulting from a significant loss or absence of crucial aspects of self or another to whom there is a deep attachment” (Roos, 2002, p. 26). The term was originally ascribed to parents of handicapped children involving both the loss of expectations of normality and daily constant dependency (Gordon, 2009). The caregiver of a handicapped child must simultaneously experience, yet contain their grief (Papadatou, 2000, 2001). Chronic grief was later expanded to include individuals with chronic illness across the lifespan, including their caregivers (Burke et al., 1992). It encompasses the loss of a relationship with family, the loss of a personal future, the loss of one’s assumptive world, unmet goals and often the death of self that becomes lost in the day-to-day burdens of caregiving. Chronic grief, “persists and changes as aspects of life continually fall short of expectations” (Bruce & Schultz, 2001). It has been described as profound sadness or a living loss with no closure.
 
The concept of chronic grief or chronic sorrow was later broadened to include infertile couple friends like John and Jess, “whose sorrow may actually increase in intensity through the long diagnostic and treatment period” (Woods, Olshansky & Draye, 1991, p. 181). For them, chronic grief includes, “constant reminders of the loss and holds the affected individual…in an emotional bondage that does not permit reestablishment” (Burke, Hainsworth, Eakes & Lindgren, 1992, p. 232). In other words, John and Jess’ chronic grief is enduring, cannot be resolved and includes feeling states of anger, sadness and loss.
 
My experiences with couples in post-war ravaged, developing countries confirms what researchers have reported as a link between encounters of injustice and an increase in chronic states of debilitating anger amongst post-conflict and refugee populations (Rees et al., 2011). Core characteristics suggest chronic grief and reactions to such loss include disillusionment, aloneness, vulnerability and inequity. For the lady who declared, “I’m not strong enough to cry,” overwhelming emotions keep her frozen in grief. Chronic grief is also interpersonal because her family asks questions like, “What did I have that I am now losing?” Chronic grief is conflicted grief.
 
Inhibited, delayed or conflicted grief
 
Grief can be inhibited, delayed or conflicted. The Sri Lankan lady’s grief was delayed due to her recurrent life stressors, health problems and the cumulative losses of family members and displacement due to war trauma. Chris came to counselling with conflicted, complicated grief following the loss of an extremely ambivalent relationship. He was a survivor of a dysfunctional family where alcoholism and abuse occurred over a long period of time. Chris’ inhibited grief was a conscious suppression of mourning amidst his assertions of emotional strength and independence that he perceived is socially required for men.

Marianne’s delayed and conflicted grief occurred through a sudden loss. When her husband failed to pick her up from the local shopping centre, she called a friend to take her home. As she neared her house she saw paramedics placing her dead husband into an ambulance. He suffered a fatal heart attack. She was robbed of the opportunity to say goodbye. This also occurs where there are multiple deaths; for example, a disaster, car accident or a terrorist attack. Miscarriage, stillbirth and neo-natal death can also lead to conflicted, complicated grief, as can the death of a child.
 
Impact of suicide
 
Suicide results in conflicted, complex and complicated grief. Kim’s son committed suicide. She sought counselling for her sense of helplessness, powerlessness and enduring guilt in the aftermath of her unspeakable loss. Mostly, she is angry. Sadly, society often treats suicide as taboo and imposes a social stigma. This prevents Kim from receiving the comfort and support she desperately needs. Family communication is disrupted and Kim’s friendships are strained because people do not know what to say. Kim is experiencing a period of disorientation, a sense of betrayal, mistrust in her own judgement and a desire to never get emotionally close to another person. She has to adjust to being in the spotlight, as police and insurance personnel assess the situation. Her guilt manifests in self-punishment – Kim has several medical problems due to stress and her indulgence in self-abuse by drinking too much to numb the pain. All this leads to complicated grief

Loss of a child

Losing a child leads to profound grief. The statistical potential for a negative marital outcome during the bereavement period is high. Although not well defined, some sources estimate a divorce rate among bereaved parents of 40% to 70%. In most cases, it is found that there are problems in the marriage way before the death of a child. Hence, it is crucial for couples to discuss their grieving needs and expectations and how they can recognise and allow each other the natural expression of grief.
 
Despite this, marriages are not destined to end in divorce. Some couples actually grow stronger and closer in their relationship with each other. Nevertheless 100% of bereaved marriages face certain readjustments and reorganisation of their relationship. The death of a child completely shatters a family. No one is the same. Even though everyone changes throughout the course of a marriage, it is rarely so sudden and dramatic. Couples are forced to relate during one of the most harrowing circumstances imaginable. How can they give each other permission to grieve in their own way? Allocating some time periods during each week where each can express, share and listen to each other’s common concerns, might enhance connection during their grief. Raphael (1983, p. 281) declares:

In mourning the child, the parent will go back to the child’s earliest beginnings, even his/her conception. Yet it will be difficult to give the child up. Patterns of chronic grief are common and irrational guilt may prevail. In losing the child the parent loses not only the relationship but a part of the self and a hope for the future. Even when mourned, the child is not forgotten. He/she is always counted as one of the children. Such a loss may alter, forever, the course of the parent’s life and even of the parent’s relationship to one another.

Emotional Pain
 
Emotional pain can be as real and painful as physical pain. It is the opposite of “shalom” – a Hebrew word meaning peace, harmony, wholeness, completeness, prosperity, welfare and tranquillity. My young adult life was characterised by emotional pain from suppressed and unacknowledged childhood difficulties that resulted in an inability to give and receive love. This resulted in a loss of authenticity that required courage to face the pain, change old habits and renounce unproductive, wrong beliefs. For a long time, I lacked this kind of raw courage. During my childhood and adolescence, the enemy instilled his lies in my spirit that no one cared for me or would come for my heart. I negated and dulled the pain by suppression, distraction, addiction, manipulation and dependence on others to meet my needs.
 
Emotional pain results from broken or hurtful relationships, acute situations of wounding and situations involving chronic distress. Losses include:

• Loss of self;
• Loss of identify;
• Loss of hope and a future;
• Loss of security and belonging;
• Loss of relationships; and,
• Loss of love and care

I found a balm for this kind of shame-bound emotional pain in Isaiah 61:7, as God addresses his people exiled in Babylon, “Instead of your shame you will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace you will rejoice in your inheritance. And so you will inherit a double portion in your land, and everlasting joy will be yours.” God promised His people double compensation for years of suffering – they would rebuild what was ruined. Confusion would be replaced with everlasting joy. Looking back, I have found that God loves to restore what is lost, but the first step is willingness and courage to face the pain.
 
Feeling the feelings
 
Most of us find the willingness to feel our feelings as very frightening. We fear our feelings will be too intense, they will never stop or they will harm someone else. With any loss we feel sadness, but anger and guilt prolong and deepen the grieving process. Kim’s anger is closest to the surface, but it is likely covering and protecting her from deep hurt and fear. Anger is also protecting her from overwhelming guilt, as she never told her son how much she loved him before he suicided and now it is too late. She feels like she should have done something differently or seen the signs and her son would still be alive. Kim may need to work through self-forgiveness in her grieving process. Eventually, Kim must accept the limits of control she had over her son’s choices. This will take time and patience.
 
Moreover, loss and grief affect the whole of Kim’s family, hurling her family dynamics into chaos by exaggerating separateness and highlighting individual needs. Each family member had a different relationship with the deceased and each will need his/her story to be heard and understood individually, free from rivalry for attention (McKissock & McKissock, 2003). If Kim refuses to feel and face her feelings, they will not go away. Instead, they actually grow in intensity, because strong, unpleasant emotions reflect the struggle with who God really is. Perhaps honest doubts and questions are unconsciously behind feelings that are allowed to surface in honest hearts.
 
I learnt to control pain by shutting down, because feelings were too painful to feel. This was reinforced by my family and community, where I feared disrespect and contempt if I lost control or broke down. My feelings served a protective purpose – at first, they protected me from overwhelming emotions, whereas later they signalled the need for healing. Allowing myself to feel my feelings was necessary to heal because, “What we cannot hold, we cannot process. What we cannot process, we cannot transform. What we cannot transform haunts us. It takes another mind to help us heal ours. It takes other minds and hearts to help us grow and re-grow the capacities we need to transform suffering” (Bobrow, 2016).
 
Healing has taught me that not to feel is to be numb or dead inside and to shut down unpleasant feelings is to shut down other more positive feelings. I found that shutting out deep sorrow meant that I could not fully respond to life with joy. I had to learn to experience all feelings as normal and that to express them appropriately could be constructive. I knew that if I continued to shut down, I would see feelings as intrusions and respond with rage, bodily complaints, tiredness or self-destructive behaviour.
 
It is normal for those who have been deeply hurt to find it hard to identify their feelings, so it is important not to judge them. Grieving people typically feel alone, isolated, misunderstood, yet ache for someone to reach out and offer comfort. They feel weary, with little energy. Grief is a gift from God to help us to process and adjust to the losses in this life. Part of the privilege of loving deeply is the fact that one day we will lose the one we love. Our world will be turned upside down and we will experience a sense of unreality as the world functions as usual around us. It is important for us to recognise the need for support by reaching out, even if withdrawing has been a past pattern.
 
Safely thawing emotions
 
Psychological trauma theory advises that learning and practicing emotional containment strategies is necessary for wounds to be healed in a climate of safety and pacing. Only then can we learn to recognise and name each feeling as it arises. If feelings become overwhelming, we can wait until we feel safe to feel the feeling again. This allows us to stop fighting the feelings, notice them, invite them in and name them.
 
We can begin by naming feelings because this gives us some sense of control over them. Then we can choose what we do with them; for example, there are subtle differences between rage, anger, irritation, frustration. The illustration below depicts this in an anger continuum.

A further depiction of variations in the feeling of anger is found below:

Knowing the distinctions helps us to express our feelings verbally rather than act them out inappropriately (a feeling word list can also be helpful). A pathway to feeling our feelings is:

• When feelings have been identified and acknowledged, accept them without judging them;
• Observe them and notice how they are part of you – you do not have to do anything with the feelings, only choose to notice them;
• Be curious about them;
• Explore how they make sense in your life and employ emotional containment and safety strategies (for example, deep breathing) if necessary;
• Identify any triggers and thoughts that led to the feelings;
• Distinguish between thoughts and feelings (experimenting with putting “I think” and “I feel” before a feeling will tell you if it is a thought or a feeling); and;
• Talk to a trusted relative or friend who will help you to challenge your perceptions and beliefs that stem from the way you look at the world and your beliefs about yourself, others and the world.

What Helps on the Grief Journey?
 
Tears become a gift when we find meaning in our suffering. Peace ensues when our old identity (who I was before the loss) is integrated with a new identity (who I am after the loss) into a hopeful, meaningful life that we share with others. As Gerald May (2007, p. 136) expresses, “Our deserts teach us about the limits of our personal power and point us toward that constant centre of ourselves where our dignity is found in our dependence upon God.”
 
On a practical level, choosing certain activities and practices detailed below assisted me in the healing journey. You can experiment to find what works for you.
 
Relaxation, prayer and meditation
 
Times of relaxation, prayer and meditation are important, as they are opposite to emotional arousal. These practices are like taking a break from the pain, as they calm the mind and body and bring a greater feeling of control. Photographs or recordings (for example, recordings of a funeral or other significant occasion in our lives or the life of someone or something we have lost) can be significant to take to our times of prayer and meditation. Try to choose one or two photographs or fairly brief segments of recordings, so that you will not feel overwhelmed. Reflect on what they mean to you. Special music can also be a healing tool to accompany times of relaxation, prayer and meditation. Most relationships have special music associations and there is great value in using music to get in touch with grief like nothing else can.
 
Dreams
 
Dreams can be a source of identifying feelings and accessing the gift of tears. Feelings cause dreams, dreams do not cause feelings, so dreams create opportunities to explore, access and understand our emotions and concerns. In the early months of grief, dreams are usually about yearning and searching – trying to reach something on other side of wall or door. At first, just notice them. Try not to analyse or do grief work around them. Just voice what they mean in a journal or with a trusted friend. Dreams provide markers for change and create an increasing ability to accommodate the gift of tears, as demonstrated by Barry’s story in the accompanying YouTube video.
 
Symbols and rituals
 
Symbols can be important element in healing. We might plant a tree, take or arrange photographs, look through old letters, videotapes, clothing, etc. Writing a letter to someone or something we have lost (like a dream), or to our past wounded self through poetry, stories, and the like, can be a source of dealing with grief and help us to access the gift of tears. Drawing is also helpful for some, especially children. Symbolically letting go as described at the beginning of this article has been hugely helpful for me in recalibrating my amygdala towards releasing what I have been holding onto.
 
A grief ritual can access and heal pain and loss by releasing a small part of chaos, so the pressure does not build and surface in unpredictable ways. Symbolic grief rituals help us to create meaning, grieve losses, receive support and move forward. They are similar and different to our normal daily rituals; for example, before bedtime rituals that are largely unconscious. In contrast, grief rituals are conscious and intentional. They move us out of ordinary awareness into our experiences of chaos, pain and grief. Many societies conduct symbolic initiation ceremonies; for example, when a boy becomes a man he dies to boyhood, enters chaos, leaves his old identity and identifies with the man within. These rituals have great power, as they are socially sanctioned. The individual is surrounded by their community who have deep respect for the ritual.
 
So, in choosing a grief ritual we choose something that connects with our pain, grief and tears in a safe, contained way that gives us a workable way to heal. Let me give an example from a trip we made to New York. I encountered the Callery Pear Tree that became known as the “Survivor Tree” after surviving the September 11, 2001 terror attacks at the World Trade Center. One month following the attack, the severely damaged tree was discovered at Ground Zero with snapped roots and burned and broken branches. The tree was removed from the rubble and placed in the care of the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation. When the tree healed, it became part of a Memorial in 2010. The new, smoother limbs that extended from the gnarled stumps are a visible demarcation between the tree’s past and present. Today, the tree stands as a living reminder of resilience, survival and rebirth. It connected me with the war-traumatised Sri Lankan people. And how I continue to wrestle with pain that results from evil in this world.
 

The Survivor Tree

A further example is the Lindt Café siege in Sydney, Australia. After the siege, the community placed a plethora of flowers and notes near the café in an outpouring of collective grief. I also placed a bunch of flowers with a note to represent all the suffering people in the world that I hold in my heart. For me, this was a symbolic grief ritual.

The power of a grief ritual rests in the symbolic of dying of the old self and its desires and identifying what needs to change; for example, Mike and his wife walked every evening. They would stop in same place where they sat and talked together awhile. After his wife’s death, Mike was swamped by grief at the same time each evening. He allowed himself to resume the walks and sit at the same spot with a picture of his wife. He embraced the gift of tears before getting up and doing what needed to be done. By choosing to grieve, Mike allowed feelings of sadness to consciously enter the chaos of grief, thereby allowing him to leave the contained space and re-enter his world.
 
Working through grief and practicing a grief ritual is never linear or predictable. Instead, it is a way for Mike to release the pain and tears associated with his loss. It involves a taking apart and when regularly practiced, brings him closer to building something new by the integration of his old self with a new identity. Some people may need a guide or someone who can oversea the containment of the grief ritual, as it needs to feel safe to grieve and let go. This might be a group of people; for example, the local church, a small group or family members. The overseer helps the grieving person decide how long the grief ritual might be, the intensity of the ritual, and so on. The overseer sets up and maintains the emotional container for someone like Mike who is committed to the ritual.
 
What Does Meaningful Connection with the Griever Look Like?
 
Walking the journey with a person in grief is difficult, loving and courageous. We cannot offer others comfort if we have not received comfort ourselves. 2 Corinthians 1:3-4 pronounces, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God.”
 
There are certain elements that may help us to connect more meaningfully with someone in deep grief. “Often the most loving thing we can do when a friend is in pain is to share the pain – to be there even when we have nothing to offer except our presence and even when being there is painful to ourselves” (Peck, 2010, p. 97). It is okay to not have answers, to feel helpless and to allow the person to be themselves without needing them to move on. Often, they need permission to grieve and to express their feelings to a safe person. Allowing them to talk helps to organise their thoughts. It is significant to just be there and if we can accept that we are helpless in the face of overwhelming sorrow, it may enable us to be more empathic. We need to be non-judgemental and patient, as grief cannot be rushed. Above all else, the griever needs our compassionate acceptance.
 
Sometimes it is necessary to allow the griever to tell and retell their story, as this allows feelings of guilt and regret to be processed. Help them to work out what is best for them and their coping. Make them aware that others may make assumptions about their wellbeing and how they are seen to be feeling or coping. It is counterproductive to say things that give the helper something to say in an effort to make things better for the griever; for example, telling the grieving person who has just lost a baby:

“It is for the best.”
“It is not meant to be.”
“It is God’s will.”
“At least you can get pregnant again.”
“You are young, you can try again.

Statements like these are not only unhelpful, they cause greater pain for the griever. To tell someone who has just lost a leg, “At least you are not as bad off as…..,” to tell a man who has just confessed to an affair, “You need to repent walk in the Spirit,” or totell a man whose daughter has been arrested for shoplifting and is suspected of drug-taking, “You need to read the Bible and pray more” is missing the point. It is cruel and reductionist. Ultimately, Henri Nouwen (2004, pp. 37-38) expresses:

When we ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair and confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing, and face with us our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.        

                                                            
Questions the Dying Ask

Source: https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/12/business/nursing-home-residents-rehabilitation-therapy.html

Someone has said that grief and tears are a kind of spiritual discipline, a holy, tender, surrender to the only One who can be trusted with our pain. This is perhaps reflected in the two questions dying people tend to ask: “Am I loved?”; and, “How well did I love?” Dying takes everything away, every security. The only thing it cannot take is the ability to love! Grief can teach us to love more openly. It changes us. Like soil receives decaying matter, the loss eventually becomes part of who we are. An unknown person reminds us:

Faith thanks God in the middle of the mess, 
Faith thanks God in the middle of the night,
Faith thanks God in the middle of the story –
Because it believes in the relentless goodness of Him who will not stop writing till there’s good at the end of this story.

Closing Thoughts…
 
The morning after releasing our scraps of paper to the wind, I sit on the outside bench at dawn with my cup of tea before we pack up and leave. My mind returns to an earlier time where home was at the foot of the Ozarks in Missouri, USA. Just as the snow melted in early spring, Meadowlarks returned from migration. Their bright yellow underparts and bold, black chests marked in a V could be seen flitting across the meadows. Their flute-like whistles were heard from fenceposts and treetop perches. They were a symbol of hope that winter was passing and the time of singing had come (Song of Songs 2:11).

 Source: https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Eastern_Meadowlark/id

As dawn breaks God softly whispers, “The pain of this world can’t compare to the joy that’s coming. Sing like the meadowlark as you wait for what is yet to be” (my paraphrase of Romans 8:18). The journey seems long and I groan. I am like a little child in the back seat of the car repeating the refrain, “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”  The answer comes from Romans 8:22-25 that assures me:
 
All around us we observe a pregnant creation. The difficult times of pain throughout the world are simply birth pangs. But it’s not only around us; it’s within us. The Spirit of God is arousing us within. We’re also feeling the birth pangs. These sterile and barren bodies of ours are yearning for full deliverance. That is why waiting does not diminish us, any more than waiting diminishes a pregnant mother. We are enlarged in the waiting. We, of course, don’t see what is enlarging us. But the longer we wait, the larger we become, and the more joyful our expectancy.
 
It is now mid-winter; our beach holiday just a memory. As I hover in the dreamy space between sleep and waking, I hear the cackling of laughing Kookaburras, nicknamed the “bushman’s clock” and I know it is the breaking of a new day. There are no meadowlarks in Sydney, only Kookaburras, but like the Meadowlark, they herald the dawn, singing while it is still dark. And God softly whispers to my heart, “The pain of this world can’t compare to the joy that’s coming. Sing, as you wait for what is yet to be” (my paraphrase of Romans 8:18). Come Lord Jesus. Pain and suffering do not have the last word, even the self-inflicted kind. I will not groan inwardly forever. The Spirit of God stirs my heart and I cry, “Come Lord Jesus, come.” In the meantime, I ask God’s Holy Spirit to saturate me with hope again and again and again, while I sing through the gift of tears.
 
Loss and grief can take many forms, but one thing is certain, “Grief is like peeling an onion. It comes off one layer at a time, and you cry a lot” (Balster, cited in Manning, 2002, p. 5). Being strong enough to cry takes the rawest courage and sometimes we need to grieve in the presence of someone who can hold our tears, who is not afraid of intense feelings, will risk involvement, and treats us with dignity. The following poem (Author Unknown) aptly expresses the heart’s cry of grief:

Grant me the gift of telling you my grief.
I shall not voice it often for I know
Entrenchment of the widely held belief
That bravery requires scars must not show.
 
But if you are my friend, please understand
My need to tell you of this devastation.
I will learn silence, but your ear and hand
Just now could start a healing consolation

A Declaration…
 
I declare that I will honour my tears and that in my grief I will not speak words that hurt others. You, God, are “merciful to me, Lord, for I am in distress; my eyes grow weak with sorrow, my soul and body with grief” (Psalm 31:9). You “keep track of all my sorrows…[collect] all my tears in your bottle… [and record] each one in your book,” as I pour them out to You (Psalm 56:8, NLT).
 
I declare that, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (Matthew 5:4). I choose to endure grief because You comfort me in all my troubles. I open my heart to Your comfort, so that I can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort I receive from You, God. I declare that You wrap Your arms around me and hold me tight, despatching angels to comfort and protect me. I declare that I will risk hope.

A Prayer (Leunig, 2018)…
 
When the heart
Is cut or cracked or broken
Do not clutch it
Let the wound lie open
 
Let the wind
From the good old sea blow in
To bathe the wound with salt
And let it sting
 
Let a stray dog lick it
Let a bird lean in the hole and sing
A simple song like a tiny bell
And let it ring    

Jesus, we offer you our unshed tears as an offering. We pray that you will open our hearts and heal our wounds, our losses and our pain, so that we might become salt and light in a dark world. Give us the courage to cry, comfort us and make our tears a gift to ourselves and others. In Jesus name. Amen.
 
* Names and story details are changed to protect those involved.
 
Reflect…
 
When was the last time you cried?
 
What were the tears saying?
 
What words describe your grief journey?
 
What helps you in your grief journey?
 
What things or people support you?
 
Where is God in your grief?
 
What positives may come from your grief journey?
 
Write a declaration of hope for your future…
 
 
*Names and details of those mentioned have been changed.
 
About the author: Dr. Paula Davis is a clinical counsellor, supervisor and educator specialising in psychological trauma. She has worked in higher education over many years as senior lecturer in counselling. Along with her husband she designs and delivers marriage enrichment/education programs in Australia, Africa, Sri Lanka, India and Europe.
 
References
Boss, P. (2006). Loss, trauma and resilience: Therapeutic work with ambiguous loss. New York: W.W. Norton and Company.
Bruce, E. J., & Schultz, C. L. (2001). Nonfinite loss and grief: A psychoeducational approach. USA: Paul H. Brookes Publishing.
Burke, M. L., Hainsworth, M. A., Eakes, G. G., & Lindgren, C. L. (1992). Current knowledge and research on chronic sorrow: A foundation for inquiry. Death Studies, 16, 231-245.
Doka, K. (2010). Grieving beyond gender (2nd ed.). New York: Routledge.
Golden, T., & Miller, J. E. (1998). A man you know is grieving – 12 ideas for helping him heal from loss. Indiana: Willow Green Publishing.
Leunig, M. (2018). Leunig. Retrieved from https://www.leunig.com.au/works/poems.
Manning, D. (2002). The pain of grief: Continuing care series book one. USA: In-Sight Books, Inc. Retrieved from https://www.insightbooks.com/client/docs/catalog/CCS%20LOOK.pdf
McKissock, D., & McKissock, M. (2003). Bereavement counselling: Guidelines for practitioners. Terrigal, Australia: The Bereavement C.A.R.E. Centre.
May, G. G. (2007). Addiction and grace: Love and spirituality in the healing of addictions. USA: HarperOne.
Nouwen, H. (2004). Out of solitude: Three Meditations on the Christian life. USA: Ave Maria Press.
Papadatou, D. (2001). Caring for dying children: a comparative study of nurses’ experiences in Greece and Hong Kong. Cancer Nursing, 24(5) 402-412.
Papadatou, D.  (2000). A proposed model of health professionals’ grieving process. Omega, 41(1), 59-77.
Peck, M. S. (2010). The different drum: Community making and peace. USA: Simon and Schuster.
Raphael, B. (1983). The anatomy of bereavement. USA: Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc.
Rees, S., Silove, D., Verdial, T., Tam, N., Savio, E., Fonseca, Z., Thorpe, R., Liddell, B., Zwi, A., Tay, K., Brooks, R., … Steel, Z. (2013). Intermittent explosive disorder amongst women in conflict affected Timor-Leste: associations with human rights trauma, ongoing violence, poverty, and injustice. PloS one, 8(8), e69207. doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0069207
Roos, S. (2002). Chronic sorrow: A living loss. New York: Brunner-Routledge.
Wood. J., & Milo. E. (2001). Fathers grief when a disabled child dies. Washington D.C.: Brunner-Routledge.

 
Supplemental Reading

Are There Gender Differences in Grieving?

Source: grieving-pair-park-bench-300x200.jpg

An exploration of grief would not be complete without delving into gender influences, as men and women tend to grieve in different ways. If not understood, it can be distancing and counter-productive to good relationships. While there are many variations and I do not wish to stereotype, there are typical gender patterns of grieving. Masculine grieving communication patterns can sometimes be misinterpreted as being uncaring or detached, whereas feminine communication patterns can sometimes be misinterpreted as histrionic and irrational.
 
Neuro-imaging of male and female brain activation does show different patterns; for example, male and female brains differ in structure that is linked to the ability to use language in the expression of feelings. It is well-known that the right side of the brain specialises in processing emotion and the left side in processing thought. Studies of MRI scans show that often men have fewer neural connectors between the two hemispheres of the brain (Ingalhalikar et al., 2014). This likely means that men may be physically less able to express emotion verbally. Female brains seem to have stronger connections between their logical and intuitive parts than their male counterparts. Scans reveal that women are more likely to have a vocabulary for grief and need to communicate with others about their emotional experience, whereas men tend to explore and discuss their experiences using cognitive processes. Golden and Miller (1998) conclude that women really do speak a different language.
 
These biological differences also contribute to why men tend to cry less often than women, as production of the hormone that produces emotional tears is significantly reduced in males from the onset of puberty. “Men are actually programmed by their bodies to cry less” (Golden & Miller, 1998, p. 9), whereas Tennyson declared, “She must weep or she will die.” Dr. William Frey (cited by Gilbard, 1986), a biochemist, worked with 331 volunteers, aged 18 to 75, asking them to keep a “tear diary” for 30 days. Women reported crying four or five times more than men during this period. Frey found the reason has more to do with body chemistry than cultural conditioning, noting that women have serum prolactin levels (a hormone connected with the production of tears as well as breast milk) that are much higher than men. Frey concluded that hormones may help regulate tear production and have something to do with the frequency of crying. It is important to note that the absence of tears does not equate to an absence of pain – men may express their emotions in different ways; for example, men may be more restless, more irritable, participate in active tasks or spend more time alone than usual. Even though male and female approaches may be different, both experience grief in aftermath of a loss, whatever nature or shape it may take.
 
Moreover, social issues can influence gender responses to grief. Tim, living in a Western culture, adopted a more “masculine”way of grieving when his daughter died, indicating that he grieved in more cognitive ways than his wife. He tended to think more instead of feeling and was more focused more on doing in response to his grief (Doka, 2010). Sharon, his wife, adopted a more “feminine” way of grieving that involved experiencing waves of emotion that were more feeling than thinking and were more focused on exploring, expressing and processing emotions.
 
It seems that certain cultural expectations are considered normal for Tim and Sharon; for example, historically, a male who exhibited a public display of emotion was not socially accepted. In 1984, when a male leader expressed tears on national television over his drug-addicted daughter, the discomfort and disapproval of others sent a clear message. Alternatively, women who prefer to grieve alone and find it difficult to publicly express their feelings are often labelled as “cold” or “hard.” An example was Lindy Chamberlain whose baby was killed by a dingo in 1980. People believed she was guilty because she did not show the expected emotions. These incidences still tend to perpetuate social stereotypes of men and women.
 
Nevertheless, in Western cultures manhood and grief do not tend to mix. Tim conforms to historical ideals of maleness that include appearing strong, confident, brave, cool and calm under pressure, independent, “stiff upper lip” and taking care of his woman and children. Tim’s role encompasses that of protector and provider that requires the “fight or flight” defence mechanism. In times of crisis, powerful survival hormones surge through male bodies and they either stay and fight or run to safety (Golden & Miller 1998).  Therefore, Tim is more likely to evaluate a problem and problem-solve rather than experience grief emotionally, a mechanism that allows him to filter situations and compartmentalise in order to continue to function on the task at hand. Tim sees his primary role in a crisis situation as caring for loved ones and protecting them from further pain (Wood & Milo 2001). Like many men, the role of protector can override his emotional experience of loss, seen particularly in the death of a child

References

Doka, K. (2010). Grieving beyond gender (2nd ed.). New York: Routledge.
Gilbard, J. P. (1986). Crying: The mystery of tears. Archives of Ophthalmology, 104(3). 343–344. doi:10.1001/archopht.1986.01050150037021
Golden, T., & Miller, J. E. (1998). A man you know is grieving – 12 ideas for helping him heal from loss. Indiana: Willow Green Publishing.
Ingalhalikar, M., Smith, A., Parker, D., Satterthwaite, T. D., Elliott, M. A., Ruparel, K., Hakonarson, H., Gur, R. E., Gur, R. C., & Verma, R. (2014). Sex differences in structural connectome. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 111(2). 823-828. DOI:10.1073/pnas.1316909110
Wood. J., & Milo. E. (2001). Fathers grief when a disabled child dies. Washington D.C.: Brunner-Routledge.