Part Three: From Grief to Grace

I want to talk about something today that's uncomfortable. With your permission, I'd like to be transparent, open and sincere about a topic that is common to us all but many times avoided in conversation. I told you about the wreck I had in part one. We talked about the pain and progress of physical therapy in part two. But, in part three, I want to share my recent experiences with grief in hopes that our conversation will spark a needful dialogue on healing. Come sit with me on the porch, grab a rocking chair, and a cup of hot chamomile.

In the middle of my recovery from the wreck, and an interrupted sleep schedule I ran face first into a wall that I couldn't seem to navigate around, over or through. You see, life didn't stop moving just because I'd had an accident. I still had to work. I was still responsible for things and people were counting on me. As it were, I took my monthly trip to Shreveport in January for a writing collaborative that I've been a part of as a consultant for three years. When I returned home, I checked in with everyone as I normally would. That next few moments changed my emotional trajectory.

My best friend texted frantically to ask me to check on a mutual friend of ours who she'd heard terrible news about. I told her I would find out immediately as the news was too horrendous to even digest. So I sent him a text message and waited for his usual response only to find that there was none. My heart started racing and my breathing became erratic yet I tried to keep some measure of wits about me because I needed to confirm or deny what was beginning to seem true.

I made a call to another friend who skipped all the pleasantries to tell me that my friend had been shot and was no longer with us on this side of heaven. Almost immediately as the news began to travel, I started receiving calls and text messages confirming what was some of the worst news I'd ever felt.

I was at work at the time in my office. Behind that closed door I stood facing a wall of pictures—one of which included Chedrick— during one of our many photo shoots after church. I couldn't cry. I couldn't scream. I couldn't move. I just stood there with a million questions. Why? Who? I'd only left to go out of town for a moment. How could this be the news that I returned to? Did he feel alone? Did he know how much we all loved him?

Death. Not by natural causes. Not because of illness. Not because of accident. Gunshot? More questions. Racing thoughts. Lack of sleep. Phone calls with his family. Confusion. Fog. Physical therapy. Work. Racing thoughts. Lack of sleep. Phone calls with his family. Confusion. Fog. Physical therapy. Work. Racing thoughts. Lack of sleep. Phone calls with his family. Confusion. Fog. Physical therapy. Work. I tried to pray through it ya'll. I tried to sleep through it ya'll. I tried to work through it ya'll; but the only thing I could feel was empty and when not empty, hurt.

By the grace of God, I kept putting one foot in front of the other. It was going to be an uphill battle I knew. Grief was going to be a cycle of recursive emotions as reality set in. I had resigned that I'd be kind to myself and just be whomever I was at the moment instead of working so hard to hide what was eating me up inside. I was able to compartmentalize the pain enough to function which seemed to be enough for the moment.

Holding on by a thread and unclear most days because I wasn't resting well, I got another call. The Friday of the same week that Chedrick was murdered, my godfather passed away. As much as I knew that this time would come, I was not in any way expecting it to come that day. My administrators were ever so kind to me and allowed me to leave right away to be with my family. At that moment I was only concerned about getting to my godmother and godsister. Their pain was so tangible and salient for me that I almost forgot my own.

I'll not bore you with the details of everything in between; but I will share this with you, grief is not to be toyed with or ignored. It is a process that requires attention through its many phases and facets.

For me this time, grief came in the form of death. In other times it has come in the form of loss and disappointment. Some days are better than others. Some days I'm rising and some days I feel like I'm falling. The brightside is, through all of it, I've never walked alone. Not one time. God blessed me with people who were willing to hold me up, to listen to me repeat myself, to offer me a tissue, to hold my hand, and to be present when words were insufficient. I love ya'll!

And...in the dark night when people were inaccessible and my dogs were all snoring... in those moments when sleep ran from me and my thoughts wouldn't stop spinning... when anxiety seemed like it was winning and there was no reason for me to fight...when I'd go to sleep and wake up in the middle of a sleep cycle with my heart pounding...you know who was there? God was. I could call on Him and talk to Him and rest in His arms as I cycled through the process.

For every gap that I couldn't fill, God gave me grace... His grace exchanging my weakness for His limitless measure of strength. I live in His abundant reservoir of grace not because it's cute to say or cliche, but because His grace really is sufficient for me!

I promised I'd be transparent and I was. Truth is, I am STILL processing through the snowball of things that happened all at once. Forasmuch as I've disclosed, rest assured there are many nuances that have been omitted—like the letter I received from the Women's Center about testing irregularities the day that we deposited my godfather's remains (No worries, we'll talk about that later. All is well!), or finding out who murdered my dear friend. I just wanted to stop by for a minute to tell somebody what I tell myself. This too shall pass. This moment, this season, this time will pass. It won't always feel like this. It certainly won't always be like this. Grace makes sure of it.

Can I take your cup till the next time? It's getting dark out so we'd better call it an evening. Thanks for sitting with me on the porch. These rocking chairs sure are comfortable huh? The tea was good too? I'm glad. Next time we'll try another flavor. Me, you, the tea kettle, these good rocking chairs and the porch.