Grief has no rules or timeline. I wrote this post just before my father’s passing nearly two years ago. And yet, the grief still lingers. It still seems like yesterday.
This morning I woke up early. It’s not really early, it still seems like yesterday so it’s not yet tomorrow. I’m roaming around the house trying not to wake everyone else up. My dog Izzy is up with me, curled up in front of me. I couldn’t sleep because life is happening. My father will soon exit this life and enter God’s presence. I’m comforted by the fact that soon he won’t be confined to a bed or broken body. But I’m conflicted by the emotions that rush over me whenever I get an update on his condition.
It’s not yet tomorrow, we’re in the hours of in between.
The sun is setting: it’s not yet tomorrow
Dad has been unwell for a long time. We have been candid in our communication. The last time I saw him, we had communion together as a family and then prayed. I knew it was very possible that it was our last goodbye so we hung on to that moment. Death isn’t convenient. It has no schedule that we can stick to. Dad’s final wishes are for him to be buried at his home village in Finland.
That is tomorrow’s work, but it’s not yet tomorrow. I’m now facing the setting sun of today.
I find solace in God during times like this because I’m sure where my Dad is heading. God’s presence is where he will find his healing. That doesn’t remove the sorrow I feel but it adds a strong layer of comfort. I understand that this won’t be goodbye, just see you later. This life is, at best, a breath of time. We would do well to understand that there’s more that lies ahead of us than what we leave behind.
Today I’ll wait for the sun to set. It’s closer for Dad than ever, may his sunrise be beautiful.
Update: Since this was written, Dad passed away (July 2024) and was buried as he wished in his hometown in Finland. The grief has been mixed with relief as he is no longer suffering and also with wishing we had had more time. We’re never ready to lose loved ones, even when their pain is great and we know their departure is imminent.
Love, I have learned, isn’t measured by the great gestures we make in life. It’s measured by things much more valuable than gifts or proclamations: it’s measured in presence and words.
So be present when you’re with those you love. Tell them you love them. Don’t overthink dinners or grand vacations (but please do make dinner 😅). Enjoy the moments of today.
Because it’s not yet tomorrow. There’s still time.
Related reading: If this post was an encouragement to you, you may enjoy:
In Suffering is Never for Nothing, Elisabeth Elliot shares her personal journey in grief. Her first husband was killed while on mission in South America. She then lost her second husband to cancer. Even in her deepest pain, she lived trusting God.
