Last night I met with my beloved widows. Our group met about 3 1/2 years ago at a grief support class. We have been fast friends ever since. There is something binding about friendships forged in pain. I consider these women final gifts from our late husbands. Anyhoo, last night was our montly gab fest.
As I spoke last night and was met with quizical brows I realized…I am a freak. My topic…the beauty of my grief…the gift of my grief…the joy of my grief. Blank stares. Ahhh grief, such an unique experience for each of us.
This morning I relayed to Phil how out-of-place I felt…loving my grief so. Is there something wrong with me? Do I enjoy pain? Am I sick?
He asked me, “When did you start feeling this way about your grief?”
Aha, it was once I was on the other side of it. Just read any of my old “Just Jan” posts for the play-by-plays. It was NOT a joyous adventure. I NEVER want to go through it again, so Phil had better live a good long time! Alas, I feel such affection for my grief. Why?
I think it is because God used it so richly. Everything in my life today is sweeter, deeper. Grief tore me down to my bare bones and rebuilt me in hope and faith. My life was in shambles and I was unable. For once in my willful life, my strength was not enough, my courage was too weak, my mind was too broken, my spirit too sick. Enter God. Oh me of little faith. Oh me who questions most everything. I had nothing but God…and He was more than enough.
This reality that now rests in my fortified bones was worth it all. THAT is why I love my grief so.