I am not sure if I know who I am apart from grief.
I have known I wanted to talk about this for a little while now, but I have been putting it off for some time now because I don’t want to be too… for lack of a better term, depressing.
Almost 20 years of my life has been marked by separation and death.
2007 – Naomi Hope miscarriage
2008 – Anela Lee miscarriage
2009 – Jaylen Shea & Josiah Lockhart miscarriage
2011 – Left Hawaii
2012 – Left North Carolina
2015 – Left home again, left Belize
2017 – Ezekiel Jonathan miscarriage
2021 – Finn miscarriage
2022 – Fired from Shelter Cove
2025 – Left OC
I don’t really want to go into each of these stories at this time. That would make for a much too long blog post.
Some of those life events were our own choice… but that doesn’t mean the loss of friends and community that we have built over the years doesn’t hurt.
The losses we endured that were not our fault were devastating. And I sit here thinking about all of them at one time I am pretty overwhelmed by all of it. Sometimes I feel like I’ve gone 15 rounds with Mike Tyson. Many times in the stretch I find myself waiting for the next shoe to drop. When is the next tragedy going to occur?
I am allowed to embrace the suck that has made up a huge portion of my life. I can’t sit in it for too long, I know that, but I dare not deny it either. To deny it would be to deny my life. You see this pain is a part of me. It’s a part of my journey. It’s a part of what makes me, me.
I have heard someone describe grief as a button in a box with a bouncing ball in it. When we first experience the moment of grief, that ball is as big as the box, and it keeps hitting the button all the time. And as time passes the button gets smaller… sometimes… There is no formula for how much time passes and how fast the ball shrinks… but inevitably the ball shrinks. But the button is still there. It gets pressed less and less often as the ball shrinks. But when it gets hit… It feels the same as the first day. And the ball never really leaves. We don’t want it to leave either. People that haven’t experienced this type of loss don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you want that ball gone? Because the ball is who we lost. And we are worried that if the ball disappears then we have forgotten them. I would rather die than have that happen.
We live in a world that is so pain averse. We don’t like what I am talking about. I don’t like what I am talking about. But I can’t not talk about it. I am the father of 6 babies that never got to take a breath here on earth. And in this pain averse world, even Christians, we are told to be grateful. I think that most people can assume that being grateful is not recognizing the pain. People wouldn’t say that outloud… but even as you are reading this, were you trying to encourage me with all the blessings I have? In a way… maybe not intentionally, what that is saying is, don’t think about that bad stuff… think about the good stuff… That is biblical after all. Whatever is true and good and noble… right?
I have been marked by grief. And you have been too.
These markings are like scars from our past. Soul scars. Self scars. Heart scars. Every scar has a story. Some of our best stories left us with a scar.
The stories that gave us the scars, external or internal, make up a part of the amalgamation that is our lives. The stories that fill us with joy make up another part. The stories we love to share and the stories we wouldn’t share with anyone. All of those stories make us, us.
I think that is what the author of Ecclesiastes meant when he wrote that there is a time for everything. A time for grief and a time for joy. A time for war and a time for peace. A time to tear down and a time to build up. A time to weep and a time to laugh.
The lesson I am learning and don’t like is simply this: Everything Belongs. It is ALL a part of who I am. It is ALL a part of my story. It ALL has marked me in such a way that has shaped me into who God wanted me to be from the beginning.
There is no good ending to this. Kind of like grief on this side of heaven…
