Grief is a journey

Queen Elizabeth spoke of her annus horribilis (horrible year). My husband, Murray, says that he is ‘not superstitious’, but that 2013 was ‘not a good year’. What an understatement!

David writes in the Psalms of ‘walking through the valley of the shadow of death’ (Psalm 23). Well, last year, we certainly walked through that valley.

We started the year deeply involved in the major trauma of another family. We finished that month with police involvement for our own family, a suicidal family member and wonderful help from the mental health team.

Life raced on in its rollercoaster way. By the nature of our calling as Salvation Army officers (and our natural wiring), Murray and I journey deeply with others. We travelled some deep and meaningful paths with a number of other people and families in 2013. Breakthroughs were made in people’s lives. Thank you, God!

While all of this was going on, Murray’s favourite aunt and then his dad were given terminal cancer diagnoses. Then, only weeks before a planned big trip, Murray slipped and broke a bone.

On Anzac Day, Murray’s aunt passed away. A few days later, Murray led her funeral. Four weeks later, with Dad’s health having deteriorated rapidly, we decided to cancel our trip. Less than three weeks later, he died. That very week—the day after Murray led his father’s funeral—his big brother was diagnosed with cancer, too. The day Les was to have started treatment, he was given 10 days to live. That night, he died.
Yes, it was all that quick.

We were road-tripping again. We had more grieving to do. Murray had yet another family funeral to conduct. Family needed us, and we needed them—to be with each other, to support and be supported.

Grief is a journey. We all know that. In our family, we have come to know this deeply, viscerally. 2013 was a very hard year. We walked through the valley of the shadow of death. But read that again, we have walked through the valley of the shadow of death. We did not settle there.

The Psalmist says to God, ‘Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me. Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me’ (New Living Translation). Even there in the valley—through all our grief—God was there for us. And he is still here for us.

For much of our journeying, physical and emotional, Matt Redman’s song ‘10,000 Reasons’ has been the (Godsend) soundtrack of our lives: ‘Knowing that for every step you were with us. Never once did we ever walk alone, never once did God leave us on our own.’

It is only a few months since Dad and Les died. And Redman’s words again resonate with my soul: ‘The sun comes up, it’s a new day dawning … Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me, let me be singing when the evening comes.’

We deeply miss Aunty Gladys, Dad and Les. We will keep grieving for a while yet … and that’s okay. God truly understands our grief. He walked, held, comforted and gave us courage through the valley of 2013. And I know that he will also be with us in 2014.

By Wendy Sanson