I had been so busy raising children that I had lost myself. I went from being a young adult with young children to be being middle-aged empty nester. And I wasn’t prepared for this.

“Over and over I had to remind myself that what I was feeling was legitimate. I didn’t like the emotions. I wished they would go away and let me simply enjoy my year. But, from time to time the doubts and concerns would pop back up and make me question myself and others all over again.”

There are many aspects of Jesus which we, as his followers, are asked to emulate. His willingness to hold space for others is one of the most powerful.

One day we are living life like always. What is, feels like what it will always be. Until something happens and our world falls apart. We dare to believe and trust that today’s story is not all there is. We understand that rainbow and unicorns aren’t going to start dancing all around us. But we don’t need them. We only need a reason to keep going on.

But this year, that peace and healing remain elusive. The lights just don’t seem to reach to the corners of the rooms. Christmas movies and music aren’t transporting me like they usually do. There is a part of me that, if it weren’t for our children, would take down the decorations and call the holiday done.

We will always grieve the death of our person, the opportunities we chose to not taken, career choices that we wish we’d never taken, jobs lost, or relationships dissolved.

Grief doesn’t just diminish over time until, one day, POOF it disappears.

“Happy” is a hard word to say for all who are grieving today. Turning on the television, pulling up social media, and going shopping means being constantly confronted with pictures of smiling families, tables and houses filled with gifts and people, and the expectations of joy and holiday cheer makes it easier to stay home and mourn who, and what, we have lost.

“And so, just as that newly bare plot of land in our yard is not the end of my garden, this painting done almost 225 years ago reminds me that death as we experience it isn’t the end of our stories.”

“I believe that when someone we love dies, one of our greatest fears is that they will be forgotten by others. What if this world continues to turn and our person becomes simply someone who has lived?”

Secondary losses are part of what makes grief so difficult. Because it’s not just the loss or major life change that we have to work through. This can be especially true when we talk about a loss of security.

The uncomfortable truth is that when we are honest with our sharing, and give voice to our pains, it helps us make sense of our grief.

Grief can make us feel like this is how we will always feel. It can make us wonder if we will ever enjoy those things which used to bring us joy.

One of the reasons I love Kübler-Ross’ work is because she gave us a vocabulary to talk about our experiences of loss and the deep emotions that accompany them.

The Good News of Resurrection morning is that these losses and griefs are not the last word on our lives. They are not the whole story of who a person is, or what our worth, or another person’s worth, is.

I’m heading to Indiana today to attend a friend’s funeral. That it is today, on Holy Saturday, has not been lost on me. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it simply makes sense. We will be gathering to remember and grieve, just like a group of friends did two thousand years ago.

One of the most important gifts we can give to someone who is living with loss is to give them space to share their story whenever they are ready. I was reminded of this as I prepared for this week’s Lenten Devotional. When Rachelle asked if she could tell her own story of miscarriage and stillbirth, I encouraged her to try. She did more than try. She did it with honesty and grace.