There was a moment there, while I was cooking, a moment where grief crept up on me. I wasn’t expecting it. It was suddenly very unfair. I had done all of this work, I had endured all of this pain, I had corrected myself, but I still lost it, lost all of it. It made me very sad. The shadow says that’s the price. You don’t get out of hell without a sacrifice. You can’t look back. You can’t go home again.
So then it’s our old friend grief, once again, gracing our kitchen, causing me to pause and pull my hanky out of my back pocket to wipe my eyes. I missed it all, I wanted it all back, and it hurt so much that it is all gone forever. And because grief is an old friend now, I know to sit with it. Gently cry with it, rub its back, slowly and gently as we mourn.
Because grief shows us the worth of what we lost, makes us see how beautiful and valuable it was, and yes, it seems cruel, and yes, it is painful, but it’s a good reminder. It was worth something. It did have some meaning, or we wouldn’t be crying over its loss now. And as you work the barb of the hook back out, maybe you can honor that by simply appreciating it, even as you miss it.
Grief doesn’t stay long. We’ve learned not to overstay our welcomes. Grief has cleared the table and done the dishes by the time you sit on the couch with your boys, and you can authentically smile as they hand you your controller for the game. Because there is worth now, there is meaning now. Sometimes a little grief can help you see it.