Loss is painful. Grief is challenging.
In fact, sometimes the whole loss and grief process can seem like a solo, unassisted climb of Mount Everest.
Personally, I’ve hiked some mountains, but I haven’t actually “climbed” any (where you need serious gear, equipment, ropes, etc.). Climb Mount Everest? Nope. Never even entered my mind.
Everest is so far beyond my puny abilities and skills that even the thought of it is laughable. All my personal strength would be only a drop in the bucket of what’s required.
Losing a loved one – or losing several (or even many) loved ones – is shocking, painful, and traumatic. Once the shock waves begin, they can go on and on. The aftershocks are limitless and scary. One loss leads to another, and another, and then yet another.
Our personal losses grow in front of our eyes, rising higher and higher. Our Everest keeps getting bigger, taller, and even more insurmountable. We can’t see the summit – not even close. All is shrouded in clouds and mist.
No one can tell us how hard this will be for us. No one can tell us how long it will take.
All this is daunting. This journey is hard. Arduous. Exhausting.
This is uncharted territory for us. New terrain. A new and foreboding wilderness. We’ve been through difficulty and loss, but not like this. Every mountain is different.
On top of all this, a stark loneliness emerges from somewhere deep inside us. Others have traveled here, but this is not their loss. This is our loss – ours alone.
Is it any wonder we get overwhelmed at times?
Is it any surprise we feel tired, drained, and even exhausted?
Is it any wonder we experience a loneliness like no other?
It feels like an Everest. We can wonder if we have what it takes.
What do we do with all this?
First of all, breathe.
Take a moment. Breathe in deeply through your nose. Hold it for a few seconds. Now breathe out slowly through your mouth. Again.
Keep breathing deeply for a minute or two.
Second, tell yourself the truth. Say the following out loud: “This is HARD.”
Say it again. “This is HARD.”
Keep breathing. Say it again.
Third, tell yourself some more truth: “I can only take one step at a time.”
Breathe. Say it again. “I can only take one step at a time.”
All journeys are taken one step at a time. In life and grief, there are no leaps forward. There are no skip-overs or shortcuts.
Breathe. “I can only take one step at a time.”
Fourth, remind yourself of one more truth: “I cannot do this by myself.”
Breathe. Say it again. “I cannot do this by myself.”
You know this. That’s why you’re reading this email.
There are many, many people on this grief journey. All our losses are different, but we have much in common. We have a sort of shared loneliness.
Keep breathing. “I cannot do this by myself.”
Three simple truths. Embrace them. Say them out loud.
“This is hard. I can only take one step at a time. I cannot do this by myself.”
And don’t forget to breathe.
Perhaps this email raises some questions for you. Please feel free to ask.
Yes, we’re lonely, but we are far from alone. Thank goodness.
The LORD makes firm the steps of the one who delights in Him; though he may stumble, he will not fall, for the LORD upholds him with His hand. (Proverbs 27:23-24)
Question: What Everest do you sense you are facing? Feel free to comment and share.
Trying to wrap my mind around truly living again without the one person who was my everything. Making my Mount Everest a possible climb without falling off all the steep, rocky surfaces that constantly face me.
Being in a very slippery, lonely place without even feeling really here.
It is only by the grace of God that I am here and have a hope for a future and some purpose.
Hi Myra. Thank you so much for sharing. Indeed, only by the grace of God. Life here can feel so surreal now. It feels less like home. Of course, that’s part of the walk of faith too. As we walk more and more closely with Jesus, our hearts align more and more with His. This world begins to pale. Heaven and eternity are ahead. We begin to yearn more and more for home – real home – Jesus Himself. He certainly has you here for a reason. We’re not done yet! Blessings to you….
Hello, to my grief helpers community. Mount Everest has a reputation, yes, it’s beauty, it’s creation is majestic, yet…its memory is riddled in sadness, tragedies. Yet it stands strong, never wavering , for it is a mountain. Climbing it is another thing altogether, we need, help, tools, ropes, supplies, you get the drift. We need comrades, at our side. Each step, arduous, painfull, but yet we climb, we have no choice, it is our journey, this never ending climb of grief, we carry on living life, carrying our heavy hearts, with this climb!! So, huddle together, breathe in and out, carry your tools and supplies, hold tight to your comrades. Pray, and know, at the peak, we shall see their faces again. Until. Then….rest in ” him” King of creation, take his comforter deep within yourself. Love to you all.
Hi Dianne. So well said Thank you for sharing and commenting – and encouraging us. Yes we climb. Jesus is already victorious, and so are we (because we are in Him and He is in us). He lives through us today. Have you way, Lord. Blessings to you, Dianne.
1 year and 2 months ago I lost my husband of almost 39 years (we met when I was 13, started dating at 16, married when I was 20). He had just turned 61 and died from stage IV pancreatic cancer (diagnosed in April and died the end of December). I’ve lost the love of my life and my friend. What a struggle it is every day and night- bedtime being the worst. The loneliness is deep. I miss his companionship. I had been with him most of my life and now I have to go it alone. I felt safe at night with him. Now I’m most anxious at bedtime. Will I have to try and work so I will be okay financially since I am on long term disability? When I don’t feel well it’s scary without him. It was traumatic watching him suffer. It’s traumatic living, feeling as though half of me is gone forever. Losing my mom almost 12 years ago was devastating. Losing my husband feels worse. This is my Mt. Everest! Learning to live without my husband – having to adjust to this different life that I did not ask for, did not want . He and I were supposed to grow old together. Yearning for my husband’s touch, yearning to hear his voice and see his brown eyes looking at me. I have our sons and granddaughters and siblings, and friends but no one can fill the void my dear husband has left. I have learned so much these past 2 years from my husband’s illness and his death, but I have to say it’s a heck of a way to have to learn. And the dreams I sometimes have in which he’s still alive- they seem cruel because they provide a fleeting, false sense of comfort. They feel somewhat bittersweet in that there is a moment in which I am happy and secure in being reunited with my husband, but much too quickly I awaken from my dream and reality punches me in the gut, and once again, I am a grieving widow.
Hi Karen. Thank you for sharing with us. Goodness, what a journey. I’m so sorry. These losses change everything, but you know that all too well. Thank you for expressing what so many have thought, felt, or are thinking and feeling. You are a blessing to us. I’m praying for you now.
This is so true! But good to read. I love everything that Gary writes. It is comforting. It is hard to put down but also hard to read sometimes cause it makes you feel and think of that loss This had some. Good stuff.
Thank you, Patti. Your kindness and encouragement made my day. Yes, indeed, it is hard to read at times. The grief is within us. Sooner or later, it will be triggered and get expressed. Sometimes reading can help us do that and be a little more proactive. This is hard, hard, hard. Keep being kind to yourself, Patti. Blessings…