A Grief Observed

Grief.

It's been on my mind for a while now, but it's been at the forefront of my thoughts these last few days. Some of my dearest friends from back home lost their youngest daughter, 18 months old, in a tragic accident over the weekend. I was stunned by the news. It was one of those situations where one irrationally thinks, "This? Why did this happen to them? They are some of the best people I know." But then, it is often the best and strongest who pass through the hardest trials life has to offer. Needless to say, my heart has been heavy all week.

As I've prayed for them, I have felt an assurance of God's love for them as well as the strength of their testimonies. They truly are some of the most faithful people I know. Even their email announcing the funeral was filled with hope; I know they have a testimony of the resurrection and the plan of salvation. However, that knowledge does not preclude the grief one feels at the loss of a loved one (especially one so young). And I have come to find that it is actually through one's faith that grief is most purely experienced and manifest.

After the death of his wife, C.S. Lewis kept a "grief journal" which he eventually published under the title A Grief Observed. I think this is one of Lewis' most valuable published works simply because of its raw energy and exposed nature. In it, he gives an excellent visual analogy about tests of faith. He says, in essence, that it is easy to stand on the edge of a cliff and say we trust the knots we have tied. However, when we are asked to go over the edge, all of a sudden we want to test them, double-check, just to make sure they are secure. Lewis, the great Christian apologist, found himself testing the knots he had written so much about as he worked through his grief. He was disheartened at the need to deconstruct his faith and rebuild because of his feelings.

"What would H. herself think of this terrible little notebook to which I comeback and back? Are these jottings morbid? … I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief. Do these notes merely aggravate that side of it? Merely confirm the monotonous, treadmill march of the mind round one subject? But what am I to do? I must have some drug, and reading isn’t a strong enough drug now. By writing it all down (all?—no: one thought in a hundred) I believe I get a little outside it. … In so far as this record was a defence against total collapse, a safety-valve, it has done some good."

In my immaturity, when I first read this book I contracted the feelings of grief and hopelessness. I concluded that his grief would not have been so deep had he had knowledge of the plan of salvation. As I have gained experience, I have come to understand that hopelessness and grief are two separate emotions but are sometimes contracted because loss is such a test of faith, and as we grieve we also tend to address our faith (or crisis of faith), as Lewis did. The knowledge we have of what comes after this life helps us to separate out those two feelings and can lessen and ultimately elminate the hopelessness that often accompanies grief, but it does not take away the feeling of grief itself.

It brings to mind a photograph I saw of President Hinckley at his wife's funeral. The first time I saw it, my heart swelled and a tear or two escaped. The sorrow etched on his face for the loss of his companion touched my heart. There sat a prophet of God, who knows better than any of us about the plan of salvation, heartbroken. From there, my thoughts naturally travel to the Savior himself. Christ, our perfect mentor, wept with grief at the loss of Lazarus, his friend, just before he raised him from the dead (John 11:32-44). He knew he had the power to raise him, and yet he mourned with his friends.

D&C 42:45 says "Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die..." Mosiah 18:9 outlines our baptisimal covenants which include being willing to mourn with those that mourn. It may not seem so revelatory to those reading, but for me the realization that we are supposed to mourn the loss of those we love was both surprising and liberating. I went in search of what grief really entailed. I found a great statement by Elder Lance B. Wickman. He said:

grief is the natural by-product of love. One cannot selflessly love another person and not grieve at his suffering or eventual death. The only way to avoid the grief would be to not experience the love; and it is love that gives life
its richness and meaning.

President Hinckley loved his wife deeply. It follows then that he would feel her loss deeply. The Savior loved perfectly; of course he wept at the death of his friend. This is grief felt with faith. In the past, I have sometimes felt unjustified or foolish in feeling loss so deeply, but to revisit my own experiences with these thoughts in mind changes things. It makes sense: still, twelve years later, whenever I hear a violin playing, I always think of Grandpa Willardson, and at times feel a slight stab of loneliness upon hearing a haunting melody. At the ranch, I always, always think of Grandpa Bradshaw and wish we were all back up on Court Rock or in the basment playing PIT or at the general store buying colorless soda and fireworks. When I come home to a rare piece of handwritten mail, I can't help but think of Grandma and our weekly, handwritten letters. When I smell strong aftershave, I think fondly of Uncle Doug. I love each of these family members dearly and deeply; it is not a lack of faith or selfishness that fuels me missing them but, rather, love.

It makes me think of our Heavenly Father's farewell to each of us as we came to this earth. How many tears did we shed through our excitement because of the separation that was about to occur, even though it is for a relatively short amount of time? And how excited is our Heavenly Father to welcome us back home? The idea of grief being a feeling God himself feels sanctifies those feelings for me. It brings a sense of holiness to it all.

I was not able to attend the funeral today but my parents were. They confirmed what I already knew: it was of course heartbreaking, but it was also full of faith, hope and love. And I think that's exactly how it's supposed to be.