Yesterday Tim Challies posted an article entitled Grief can be so lonely and he’s right, it can. The question is why and then to remember what that means.
The majority of people on this planet are completely unknown to me. Almost all of them will die and I will neither know, and because I don’t know, their deaths will have zero impact on me. Occasionally some of them will die in a particularly tragic way that will briefly catch our attention and grab some of our empathy, pity or anger but most of them will not.
Then there are people who exist merely on the periphery of my life. I know of them or I once knew them but we’ve lost touch or were never very close. I might hear of their death and think to myself, ‘that’s sad’ and then carry on.
Still closer there are people that I do know, relatives, colleagues, friends. I might be invited to their funeral/thanksgiving and I might go. I will definitely feel sad at their death and will be sure to leave a comment on Facebook or some other slightly arms length means of getting in touch.
Closer still are the people I love, and I will most definitely feel the impact of their loss. I would make considerable effort to attend their funeral/thanksgiving, I’d donate to their cause, I’d send flowers and write a personal message to their loved ones. These people I will miss. They have left a footprint in my life.
But there are some people who are not just around my life but in my life. I am intertwined with them, our life stories mingle and are often inextricable. I cannot tell you much about me without also telling you something about them. They are not just loved but they are a presence in my life and if things are done properly when their presence turns to absence it will be felt at every turn.
Of course the tragedy is that sometimes those who should leave this last kind of footprint in our souls do no such thing. We should know them but we do not, they have left and when their absence becomes permanent we were already used to it. Other’s absence comes as a relief because their presence caused us genuine hurt, pain or shame. When the abusive ex or relative dies, their death may be a sadness but it may also be a relief. Either way it’s tragic evidence of the brokenness of the human condition.
But when we love properly and fully and are loved wholeheartedly in return then that person leaves an indelible mark that, for a while at least, can’t easily or perhaps ever truly be filled. So while we can fill some of the gap these people leave, it is very hard to fill all of it. The more a person’s life was intertwined with yours; if you lived with them, ate with them, saw them every day, if it seems as though every good memory you have had that person in them, then their absence will guarantee to leave you feeling lonely. And no matter how well the church or your friends or your family loved you they can’t fill that gap, and you shouldn’t expect them to. My Dad was married to my Mum for 54 years and they were together for more than 60. I think the days they were apart in all that time can be counted on your fingers and toes. How can anyone replace that kind of presence? And the answer is they can’t.
But that means you, and they, did some things right. You were blessed enough to have loved and be loved and so loneliness, though painful reminds us of a gift we were given, a grace we received, and to see it for the precious gift we were so fortunate to have had.
There are few more articulate people on the subject of grief than Stephen Colbert and Nick Cave. The whole interview is well worth watching but the section from 11:45 in particular.
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