Good Grief: God’s Grace for Each Moment in Year of Grieving

Good grief. It’s Charlie Brown’s favorite phrase, but can grief really be good? Maybe. When we grieve because of a great loss that means we had something great. And it is right and good to grieve a love we miss. 

Of course, when that grief is from a loved one’s new life in Heaven, we cannot grieve as those who have no hope. What great hope we have in Jesus.

This post is not my typical writing. It is a personal follow up to a post I wrote shortly after my dad went to be with Jesus: Romans 8:28 is true even when we can’t see it.

Processing memories of those days is good therapy. I’ve remembered, typed, and cried. But what I want you to remember is that God will give you grace for the moment as you need it, just like He did for us. 

Grace today for grief today, grace tomorrow for grief tomorrow. Trying to use today’s grace for tomorrow leaves us worrying, hopeless, and with grief that is not good. 

But this has been a year of good grief. And I will remember.

Two words I’ll always remember: “He’s gone.”

My sister said those words a year ago today. 

I was checking out after some Christmas shopping. My two oldest girls, the baby, and a couple other kids were with me. My sister had just texted me about something regarding a Christmas gift and I had replied, but then the phone rang showing her name. I thought she wanted to know more.

Instead, she called to say my dad was unresponsive and we needed to come right away. I left my oldest paying while I got the baby in the car and called my husband Dave. We were at least an hour and a half away. I had to pass by my house anyway, so I planned to pick him up.

All along the way we prayed. I thought of my dad’s best friend. Like Daddy, he was a man of God and long-time preacher. He had been unresponsive and recovered. He lived on for several more years of ministry before my dad had the privilege of preaching his funeral. Oh, how I longed for and prayed for such a miracle.

Then another phone call. My sister again. “He’s gone.”

“No, no, no,” went through my head over and over. I thought of the last time I saw my daddy. It was Thanksgiving Day. I don’t even remember hugging him good-bye. I’m sure I did—I always do—but it’s just a blur. I wish I had those last moments imprinted in my mind.

I stopped at the house, Dave and I told the other kids, then we headed to be with my family. They were waiting for me. My dad was still lying in the moving trailer where he had already moved to a better world. He looked peaceful and was still warm. I couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t keep trying to bring him back longer. The time between the first phone call and those two unforgettable words seemed so short.

A pretty, dark gray stray cat, whom Mama lovingly named “Not My Cat,” adopted mama that day. She came in the house because the door was open so much. Every time Mama sat down, Not My Cat sat in her lap. (Today Not My Cat has been appropriately renamed Grumpy and rules the roost at Mama’s house in Puckett.)

I spent that first night in the bed beside my mom. I didn’t want her to be alone, though that night was probably the most alone she’d ever felt. I tried to listen for her every breath, hoping to give some small comfort, if possible, by the touch of my hand on her back or shoulder.

My “big brother” and his wife drove from several hours away and spent the next few days grieving and remembering with my family. We laughed and cried as we passed hours both catching up and reminiscing about our teenage years. My little brother, big sister, and “big brother” spent more time together than we had in many years.

 A few days later so many people came to Whitesand Church for daddy’s visitation that many waited a couple hours in line. A crowd of friends and family whose lives he had touched over the years shared in our grief. Others came just to support us, but still felt Daddy’s impact. My homeschool friend who didn’t know my dad said later that the closer she moved to the sanctuary, the more she felt overwhelmed with a sense of the presence of the Holy Spirit.

At the funeral, we sang “Victory in Jesus” and “God Is So Good” like Daddy always had requested. Over half the people in the full sanctuary stood signifying that they had been led to the Lord and/or baptized by my daddy. My brother somehow made it through a gospel message that honored Jesus and Daddy. Our dear friend played and sang “Well Done,” a song that he learned in two days just for us.

Daddy’s body was laid to rest at his old home church in Puckett near his parents, in-laws, siblings, and many family and friends with whom He is now rejoicing in glory. 

Daddy’s Whitesand Church family provided an abundance of love and support through it all with meals, hugs, and tears. They helped us finish packing, loading, and moving. (Mama and Daddy were already in the process of moving to their long-awaited retirement home.)

Here we are now, a year later. I don’t know how we (especially mom) made it through the lonely days of grief that still linger on, but, moment by moment, day by day, Our Heavenly Father provided the grace for one more breath. Even when we couldn’t sense His presence, He held us in His hand.

So as write the things I want to remember about my dad’s home-going, though it is so hard to believe a year has passed, today is a day to celebrate God’s faithfulness even with the inevitable, yet healthy and much needed tears.

We did make it through a whole year without Daddy’s physical presence. Mama wouldn’t think so, but she has been amazing. Our grieving is far from over, and we still must not look too far ahead at the overwhelming thought of years without him, but God has given grace for each moment, and He will give more every moment as we need it for good grief.

For now, I will grieve well and cry, and ask Jesus to tell my daddy how much I love him until I can tell him again myself.

Are you grieving, too? Let’s lift each other up as we grieve well because we loved well.