Secondhand Grief

I’ve never been able to understand mourning. Especially someone else’s. Then I lost my dad. It was 5 years ago, just minutes from his birthday, and just in the last month I’ve actually been able to say the words out loud – “My dad died.” In my 40s it was unbelievably painful, but I had my own life, my own kids, my own husband. He didn’t leave me alone. I didn’t experience loss in the same way my mom did. I lost one of the two people in my life I had known since the moment I took my first breath. I lost the one man I’ve ever known that would never have let me down. But mom lost her soul mate. The person she shared everything with… including me. We mourned so totally differently and for totally different things. But, we both have mourned. We’ll continue to forever.

Today, I got news that the pastor of my best friend’s church, a 47 year old father of 4, died suddenly for no known reason. For some reason, for a number of reasons, this has affected me in ways I don’t quite understand. I have hurt all day. I never met this man. I never met his family. I don’t know why this loss is my loss. The next few words will try to make some sense of it.

Shawn was the new pastor. He had so many plans to revive a church that was struggling, as so many are these days. He was doing things in the church and in the community. He was injecting life into a church that needed a pacemaker. Every church in our area is in need of someone like him, who can make a change and re-inflate a flattening balloon. Jefferson Avenue Baptist Church had found the fountain of youth. It’s incomprehensible that he was taken right now.

Not only was he a beacon of hope to the church, he was someone that my best friend had come to know and love. Her pain is my pain. She shared goals with him that most people wouldn’t be able to understand. I can’t comprehend why so many good plans will never happen without him.

Most of the hurt I’m feeling today is because Shawn’s kids have lost their father and that is something I identify with completely. Their loss has brought back all of the pain of the loss of mine. I can only imagine what losing my dad would have done to me if I were their age. Any plans I would have had would have been stopped in their tracks. The feeling of purposelessness would have derailed every part of my life. From what I’ve been told, Shawn’s kids are amazing. They are ministering in the church, they’ve been taught to welcome people to that space and serve them just as their dad was. I can’t imagine re-entering that building knowing he was gone. It took me a long time to be comfortable in spaces that were my dad’s. Some I’ll never return to.

The thing our community needs the most is hope. Churches are empty save a few people who still gather because they can’t bring themselves not to. Young people have nothing to make them appreciate and nurture their church. People who built the churches on the corners are either long gone or are getting too feeble to be active. So, when a family comes along that revives a congregation it’s a symbol of hope for the others who haven’t found their “Shawn” yet. When that hope is taken away from his church family, it is felt everywhere else.

Surely, there will be a successor. The church will find a new pastor. Hopefully, it will be someone with the same goals, drive and enthusiasm as Shawn’s. But, Shawn’s family will never recover. His friends will feel the loss of him forever.

My friend said she didn’t know what to say to Shawn’s family or how to help them. I told her that the time to be there for them is in weeks to come when the ceremony is done, the casseroles stop coming and the world around them stops reacting to the circumstances. That’s when the reality hits. That’s when the sobs come at random times and you think you’ll never be able to breathe again without missing the person you lost. That’s when you start to look through boxes and pictures and can’t bring yourself to throw anything away because “it was the last receipt he got for gas” or “he used that toothpick”. That’s when they’ll need someone to sit with them and let them cry. That’s when they’ll need the distraction of a lunch date even though they don’t feel like it. They’ll need someone who will just be near them and allow them to feel what they feel and say what they say and not judge them.

Everyone grieves differently. Some people hold on to stages for longer that we expect them to. I held on to the “anger” stage for what seemed like way too long. But, being mindful of how someone is grieving and meeting the needs of that stage is the best way to comfort us. There is no blueprint.

I hope for Shawn’s family and friends that they move beyond the fresh hurt and to the place where they can breathe around it. Eventually, the things that make you feel ache and despair become things that make you sigh and smile. You cry because they’re gone, but later you smile because they happened.

I hope they never feel like they’re doing it wrong. Just because a mother and 4 kids are missing their husband and father doesn’t mean that mom’s process is going to be the same as the kids. Even the kids will feel and overcome things differently from one another. It’s okay to grieve in your own way and in your own time.

I hope they can forgive people who don’t understand their grief. People say really stupid things when they don’t know what to say. Every attempt to comfort is wrong. You just want to scream “NO, I don’t need anything!” “I’m in your THOUGHTS? You think it’s going to help me for you to THINK about me?” “YOU’RE sorry for MY loss?” I hope they are able to ignore the clumsy words and appreciate the intention.

Finally, I hope they feel peace. God has a purpose for everything. Sometimes we never find out what that purpose is, but if we trust that there is a reason He will give us peace. It’s okay to feel it. You’re not betraying anyone by allowing that peace to take away the sharp edges.

To JABC and the Creamer family: I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but today I’m hurting with you.

Tags: death, grief, mourning, pastor