Pausing from Grief

Monday morning a local radio DJ explained that he watched part of the vigil from Newtown the night before, but that he had to keep turning away from it, because it was so overwhelming.

I could understand this. My mother's unexpected, unnecessary death plunged me into a paroxysm of grief that lasted a full year, until I again reached that fateful day in February and decided to forgive the doctor and move on.

To get past grief requires walking through the river of  sorrow to the other side where healing waits, and sometimes the water swells threatening to drown you. You can back out of the river and take a break, you can hold someone's hand and brave the rapids, you can try to swim against the current, but whatever strategy you adopt, you must have the courage to cross the river to finally reach healing.

But when it's someone else's river, it's really hard to want to plunge into the raging water. And the water of this river flowing from Newtown is especially chilling, rapid and deep, as it contains the grief of so many, and so young, and so senseless.

The rest of us watching prefer to do little more than dip our toes in from time to time. Those with small children find themselves especially drawn to the river by virtue of association.

But those bereaved by this tragedy have no choice, they cannot stand on the bank and watch. They can't take a break, or turn off the TV to dismiss the pain.

The rest of us don't have to swim this river, but we can sure pray for those who do, and stand by with life preservers in case we can help in some way. 

Just this morning I read again the story of Jonah, who when the waters threatened to overcome him, found respite in a fish. I don't know what unusual means God will provide to comfort the bereaved, but I do know that God never abandons us, despite the feeling of drowning, and I pray that all those in pain turn to God for that comfort.


God can seem far away at times like these, even when we hold hard to God's hand. But indeed God is always close, even when all evidence fails to reveal God's presence, and I am praying for these families that the waters do not overwhelm them but that they feel supported, loved and cared for. Even when the dark descends:
even there your hand will guide me,
    your right hand will hold me fast.
¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
    and the light become night around me,”
¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
    the night will shine like the day,
    for darkness is as light to you. Psalm 139