Grief and the Other Side of the Veil

Photo by Marcus Ganahl on Unsplash

I've been writing about homeschooling but wanted to explore a different topic. The holidays are fast approaching, and I don't know about you, but that inevitably brings up grief for me. It is much easier for me to live with grief at bay when ordinary life is happening. I know it's in the room, but I'm too focused on raising my young children to take too much notice. However, during the holidays, I become more sentimental and notice everything. It could be because time feels like it's going too fast, and each year I see my children grow, it splits me in two. Half of me is grateful they are healthy and growing, and half is so sad that they don't fit in my arms the same way.

When I pause, I notice the empty space my brother left when he died. In 2007, my brother Diego passed away at 28, when I was only 24 and still reeling from my parents' divorce. Although we were close and living together at the time of his death, we could not have been more different. He was a large guy who befriended everyone easily and was generally passive. He often cried at films and books and was a great cook. I was harder. I was determined to keep my tears to myself, miserable in the kitchen and too loud and dramatic, which made friendships a bit harder.

His death came swiftly. He'd been sick and in the hospital the week before. He told us his Doctor had advised that he take it easy. Slowly, his body would repair itself. Five days later, he was back in the hospital; he died the next day. It was a Sunday. I had known about death; every Christian does. In fact, we live our whole lives in anticipation of it. But I had never been touched by death before. I knew there was a veil between the two places, the one I know here and where God dwells in all His splendor. But I had never stood that close to it before. It was terrifying.

His funeral was huge. We grew up in a small community and knew so many people. Our small country church, which held approximately 300 people, was packed–standing room only., I tangibly felt their prayers during his funeral mass. My nephew, two at the time, played out front with his nanny. We didn't know how to navigate this completely uncharted territory, and all had a singular focus: What do we do for that little boy? How do we explain this to him? Thankfully, his mom is a strong woman who would be more than capable of raising him well.

In the first weeks of my grief, I would wake up and lay in bed crying. Sleep gave me this blissful reprieve, but waking up and remembering took its toll on me. Shockingly, life went on for everyone else. I felt like I was in a dark, thick fog and could not get away from grief no matter what I did. I don't remember specifics because I think my mind is protecting itself from that traumatic time, but I do remember spending a lot of time with my girlfriends and eventually moving in with them. There were five of us under one roof, and they held space for my grief. I felt so conflicted about God. Up to that point, I had only known God to be wonderful. I had focused on the resurrection so much that I felt grossly unprepared when it was time to walk to Calvary. Sitting at Jesus' bloody feet and mourning so deeply my bones hurt, a new relationship was forming between God and me. He was drawing me closer to Himself, and it was painful, beautiful, and intimate.

Grief is many things, and everyone mourns in different ways. I would venture to say there is no 'right' way to grieve, but there are many wrong ways. While I turned to God, some family members made selfish and hurtful choices, all in the name of grief. I don't judge them, but I can see how hard it has been for them to heal in the long term. I would say that although I do feel whole, God is still healing that loss. My brother was a force in my life, and his absence has been felt acutely in major life moments. On my wedding day, holidays, the days my children were born, and when his son graduated high school, his absence was deeply felt.

I have had many comforts from God since my brother's passing. One significant one is my relationship with my nephew, Xavier. He is now 19, and we have spent much time together. Sleepovers, trips, and now that he is older, more meaningful conversations have helped us cultivate a wonderful relationship. He is in college now, studying to be an English teacher. He is kind, funny, and pensive. He is a lasting comfort to me. His quiet presence in my life has been a balm to my soul. He is also our children's favorite person.

I recently went to California, and he picked me up from the airport. We chatted about school and my kids, but inevitably, we talked about his dad. Hearing Xavier express how grief touches his life 17 years later was astounding. While most of us have made room and peace with the grief we feel, Xavier is only now identifying how his father's passing has marked his life. I invited him to write the second part of this series in hopes that his insight might help any of you. I'll be posting that next week.

I know grief can feel like a monster, and it can swallow us whole if we let it. If you're in the midst of it, please don't let it consume you. You're still here for a reason, and God is not done. He is with you in the valley. He is with you in that space between here and there. He is with you, always.