Just after midnight eight years ago, I received one of those dreaded phone calls that brought news of the worst kind. My grandfather suffered a brain hemorrhage. The neurosurgeon performed a last-chance procedure but couldn’t predict if the man who walked me down the aisle on my wedding day would wake this side of heaven.
I wanted to cry right then and there, but the adrenaline shooting through my body converted my pain into energy. I nursed my son, packed a suitcase, and cleaned my kitchen and bathroom until every knob and and surface gleamed. A day later I was in Pennsylvania holding my grandfather’s hand, hugging relatives, and blinking back tears.
Crying felt wrong, as if tears would wash away hope. So for the most part, I steadied my emotions for the following seven years.
When my grandfather woke up with severe brain damage five weeks after his surgery, I refused to mourn losing the person he used to be. Grief felt selfish. He was alive. And although the doctors gave no indication that his condition could reverse, I prayed for a miracle. For one more meaningful conversation. It never came. I found solace in knowing that he remembered me, his eyes and smile told me as much. I longed for him to be whole again, but pushed anger and sadness to the side. I told myself to choose joy, count the blessings and praise God through the storm, without understanding that I could do all of those things and hurt at the same time.
On the fortieth anniversary of my life on earth, my grandfather celebrated the first day of his eternal life. All week we knew he’d leave his broken body on my birthday. Snow fell fast from the sky like it did forty years before and a road trip was out of the question. So I worked that day. Occasionally brushing off a stray tear from my chin, I finished project after project until my mom called with the news.
For four more days I held it together. I hated the all-business voice that came from my mouth when I talked with the pastor about the itinerary for the funeral. My tone felt cold and insincere, but it kept me grounded. I spoke at the service without getting too emotional, but when I finished talking my body shook so ferociously I needed help walking to my seat.
After the reception following the funeral, the immediate family traveled to the cemetery an hour away.
Almost. I whispered. This day is almost over. I can do this.
As the casket slowly moved deeper inside the ground, I braced myself against the sharp wind and my turbulent emotions until I turned and saw my youngest sister standing as I stood. Stoic yet stained with agony. Our arms stretched out stiff and we walked toward one another.
“Oh, PapPap,” she whispered. And in that moment, letting go of everything except each other, our souls began to cry. Choking sobs. Hot streams of fast-flowing tears. Gasps for air.
The hurt was too big to hold in. We needed that cry.
For almost a decade I tucked sorrow away because I really didn’t know what to do with it. I tried praying it away. I recited Scripture and memorized positive thoughts. Up until that embrace with my sister — the split second where I no longer had a choice in the matter — shame mingled with sadness. But here is what I know as true right now.
Suffering does not smother hope. Hope gives meaning to suffering.
This world and all her people know suffering. We cannot escape it, explain it, or contain it. When pain rips you raw, it is okay to allow your soul to cry.
When we numb painful feelings, that numbness will spread fast, deep, and wide and eventually paralyze all of our emotions. When we allow agony to spill from our deepest heart places — especially when we break with someone traveling with us — we open more space for hope, peace and joy; and in that moment of unleashing the overflow of our sorrow we are ready for the process of healing to begin.
“Praise the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all comfort. He comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any kind of affliction, through the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For as the sufferings of Christ overflow to us, so through Christ our comfort also overflows.” {2 Corinthians 1:3-5}
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Penny says
Angela, Thank you for your words. it seems that all the posts this week have been written just for me. I have been holding in my grief and pain for six and a half years, until, all of a sudden, this week happened. From out of nowhere it all came spilling out all over the place. So many tears. I didn’t even realize how much i hurt, until it started to come out. Hopefully now, healing can fill the place emptied. Hope gives meaning to suffering. Thank you again.
Bev @ Walking Well With God says
Penny,
I don’t know exactly what you are grieving, but I would just like to come alongside and give you a big hug and say “let your tears flow.” God will not leave you comfortless…He will come to you. Lifting you up in prayer right now…
((Hugs))
Beth Williams says
Penny,
((((hugs)))) from E. TN. May God comfort you and bring a sense of healing to your grief! I pray for you now!
Bev @ Walking Well With God says
Angela,
I grew up in a very stoic family where emotions were just not shared openly. I honestly thought, for a long time, that something was severely wrong with me because I felt things so powerfully and so deeply and it was very hard to hold back tears. I have come to know, after my many years, that those emotions aren’t wrong…God doesn’t expect us to be stoic. He, the One who knit us together in our mother’s womb, gave us these emotions. He gave us eye ducts from which tears are allowed to flow. He gave us the ability to generate a good laugh when joy warms our soul. I so agree with you…letting grief pour out, lets HOPE come in and fill us up. So sorry about your beloved Pap Pap…but thankful for the comforting lesson of Hope that God brought to you….loved this!
Blessings,
Bev xx
Bonny says
Thank you! I needed to read this and at this moment. Thank you!!
Webbgurl2000 says
Me, too. I’ve had more pain in my personal life through no fault of my own that I could hardly bear it. God has sent many people whom I did not know to pray for my marriage and my family.
I need a good cry. But, my children need to see a strong mother especially during the holidays.
My husband is trying to be a better man, but the damage is done.
Lord, help us.
Amy Hannaford says
Beautifully said! I lived with abuse for 20 years and help my sorrow in for a long, long time. The day my ex left, the day God set me free, my soul cried tears which had been bottled up for two decades.
Webbgurl2000 says
Glad you are free, Dear Sister
Penny says
Thank-you for your post Angela,
I’m so sorry for your loss. I understand the pain of losing loved ones. Despite the grief there is always hope, for each day is the Lord’s gift.
DebSteve Rhoads says
Thank you for this post. I totally saw myself…and the lights came on. I wonder if it has something to do with being the eldest child? Anyway, I appreciate your gentle treatment of this painful subject. Much needed for me.
Mary Haynie says
Angela,
Hope does give meaning to suffering. My mother passed away over 5 3/4 years ago and I miss her all the time.
She was in Hospice Care and I was the only one with her. My brother didn’t come and I couldn’t reach my daughters. The hospice nurse had called and told me she had had a bad stroke and I left work to be with her. I got to hug her and tell her she could let go and be with the family. She left her earthly body and then I felt peace knowing she was with God.
Thank you for today’s devotions.
Mary
Rebecca Jones says
Sometimes we find ourselves being strong for others. It’s natural to grieve a loss, but when we don’t deal with our emotions, grief can become a heavy spiritual burden. It can take root in our souls, a big, ugly tree to be chopped down. Fear, depression, illness all can be linked to it. I know I didn’t cry for years trying to be strong and have faith. That’s a mistake! Even Jesus wept.
Cathy says
In two months it will be eight years since I suddenly lost my husband to a heart attack. I understand your pain. At first I was in shock but it wasn’t long till the grief overwhelmed me. Life was awful the first couple years but I learned that to get to the other side of grief you must go through it. It’s a life long process, but I’m now at a place where I can say God is good and really mean it.
Bev @ Walking Well With God says
Cathy, I can’t even begin to imagine your pain. So thankful God walked THROUGH the valley with you. From what you say, He is bringing beauty from the ashes and I know He will use you to help others walk through their grieving. God bless you…and thanks for reminding us that, through it all, God is indeed good!
Beth Williams says
Cathy,
I pray you can feel God with you ALL the time, especially in 2 months!! Praying for you now and sending (((((hugs))))) from E. TN. Thank you for the thought that God wants us to go through the valley of shadow of death/grief.
Blessings 🙂
Beth Williams says
Angela
I am sorry about Pap Pap! It felt like you were writing my very own story! 6 years ago this August my beloved mom died. I didn’t cry at the viewing, or funeral. I guess for me she had already been dead for 2 years. She had dementia and after 1.5 months in hospitals, rehab she came home with Sundowner’s and was pretty much bedridden. She did recognize me and dad, but not much else. It wasn’t long after that we called hospice to assist my dad. I miss my mom and the fun we had but I still don’t cry much-strange as I am super emotional! Now I’m going through dementia and psych issues with my dad. We called hospice on July 17th. This is tough!
Blessings 🙂
Corina Greegor says
Beautiful. Thank you.
Christy says
Amen and amen! Thank you for sharing.
Beth clark says
Angela,
Thank you so much for sharing your heart and your experience. Your words are very powerful and will bear good fruit.
I’m going to save this post because with everything that’s going on in the world, I know I’m going to need this truth more and more. I also want to share this with my brothers and sisters in The Lord. The world is full of suffering but we need to be willing to feel the pain so, as you so eloquently said, we can hope in the suffering.
I’m praying God’s mighty hand of blessing on you and your family.
Beth
Marty says
“Suffering does not smother hope. Hope gives meaning to suffering.” Beautiful. Thank you for sharing.
Chara says
Thank you for sharing your great hope in the midst of great loss. These words are filled with encouragement for the weary soul that is wondering if it truly is okay to cry.
Tiffany says
Thank you for your beautiful authenticity in sharing. I’m in place of grieving and lots of tears right now. Your posts have given my heart encouragement. Today I was surfing the web and found your devotions…wow. God has been using your words written down to comfort my fractured heart.