My stepdad recently passed away. It was an end to years of dementia. It was the end of his suffering. It was the end of bringing fun and interest to his life. It was the end of my mother being the hands and feet of Jesus to him. It was the beginning of his walking in glory with Jesus. My mother was with him and told a story of the peace that passes understanding overcoming him. It was God showing up to bring healing through the unexpected details. The circumstances around the end of his life were sad, but strength is bubbling up. Some connections are being strengthened and some are being let go. The theories put forth and kind words said to my mother are glory-based and beautiful, but what about the grief? He felt the peace of God, but what about the rest of us that are continuing without him? Is there such a thing as good grief?

I recently spoke with someone who described grief as something that occurs on many levels and across many stages, even more than the 12 stages of addiction recovery. It takes time. I agree. We can look at popular theories of grief and the 5 stages, and they have application in making sense of something that doesn’t, but grief is not simple. People tend to experience a myriad of feelings in crashing waves without true order and just about the time they think they’ve accepted the loss another wave of pain flows through. My friend said you know you’ve healed when you can think about the loss and not cry but feel gratitude for having known someone or gone through an experience. For some that’s true. Others get a glimmer of emotion every time they think of a passed loved one for many years and it’s not that they haven’t healed, it’s their personal expression. Many have endured horrific loss only to turn it around and create safety nets for others to not have to know the same pain. As time goes on a purpose emerges, survival becomes thriving. And through it all is the love of God. Sometimes it starts with a choice to be grateful with the beauty of life all around.

Good grief is possible. It’s making sense of the pain. It’s healthy expression of the loss. It is not destructive. It respects oneself and others. It takes time. It’s individual. It’s powerful.

For me, I have found my grief has required me to do a little more self-care. A longer walk, a soft conversation over whatever with a friend, a moment in time swinging on my back porch in the cool of the evening, a little extra prayer time where I sit in the presence of my LORD. Yes, I am trying to eat right and drink enough water, but I am accepting when I run out of time and must bring take-out home to my family. I never buy salads, so they’re not disappointed.

I watched dementia take so much from my stepdad. He had a good work ethic, was a woodworker, problem solver, and generous giver. He had a servant’s heart and volunteered his time to his church to serve coffee on Sundays and for ministering events his church hosted like at funeral dinners. That’s where I first remember meeting him. My own father had just passed and I remember his gentle blue eyes and wide comforting smile as he gave me a cup of coffee after the internment. Every time after that when I would encounter him, he offered me another cup of coffee, and when it was too late for me for caffeine, he offered me tea or water. He was stubborn and I always shared a glass of something with him. No regrets.

What dementia couldn’t take were the gifts of the Spirit that God had developed in him throughout his life. His smile stayed. His desire to serve and help remained, even if when looking for superglue he would bring a highlighter. He became adept at situational humor. He would offer to help and always wanted to act as chauffer, even when he couldn’t recall where we were going. At the end of his life, when he was sequestered to a nursing home bed, when he lost the ability to talk, he demonstrated something far greater on his deathbed than ever in his life: the child-like, peaceful, trust in God which resulted in a physical representation of his transition to be with Jesus. He loved Jesus, and when my mother held his hand and prayed with him his breathing settled, his face smoothed and he went to receive his reward for a life well lived.

Isn’t that the way it should be for all of us? Sometimes in the fray we get excited and begin to panic, but when we are reminded of the sovereignty of our LORD supernatural peace takes over. The problems seem more manageable, focus settles where it needs to for a steadfast countenance. Has there been tears shed and pain since my stepdad passes? Yes. There will be more. As Christ followers we get to walk in peace, but that doesn’t relieve us from continuing to be human.  We still hurt, get sad, angry, become afraid at times, and try to control the world to make it fit our ideals. It can get dark. That’s all part of it. Good grief is allowing yourself to be human and feel the loss as your life is rebuilt. Good grief is sometimes yelling at God all the while asking for comfort and reason. Good grief takes time. Good grief eventually culminates in the acceptance of the painful change. It is your journey to a new reality in your life.

Do not compare yourself to others as you grieve and add pressure to yourself, possibly robbing yourself of good grief and peace in your healing. In your grief first accept yourself and what you are feeling as legit. Whatever the loss, allow yourself time and space to process and don’t cover it with platitudes. Share space with those who value you and you know you can trust to safely be with you through your pain. You can live through this. You can know joy and happiness throughout without betraying yourself or your loved one. You can see glimmers of hope around you as healing takes place. Good grief is complex like that. Like you.