Grief and depression. Where does one end and the other begin? Are they intertwined like overlapping circles? These are questions that arose last Friday after an appointment with my psychiatrist. She told me we should hold off increasing my antidepressant for another month, allowing me time to process the death of two people I loved.
“Death does not win in the end.” Robert Benson
On December 30, I received the kind of text you never want. My friend told me that a homeless man attacked her dad, who was in the hospital with a brain bleed. I immediately flashed to all the times I attended prayer meetings in her parents’ house. A week and a half after the attack, he died. My friend called me two days before his death and told me her dad was dying. I cried with her on the phone.
Frank, her dad, prayed for me countless times. He taught me that prayer is ultimately communication with our Creator. He was a man that took me to a San Francisco Giants baseball game where we saw Barry Bonds break Hank Aaron’s home run record. We screamed, high-fived each other, and high-fived everyone around us. The memory is a special one for me. I carry it around with me now like I once carried a blanket (my blankie) as a child.
Last week, I received an email from the lady who runs the prayer chain at church that Noel had a heart attack. The next day he died. And who was Noel? How can I describe a man who was vibrant, funny, and caring in words? I’m a writer, and I stumble at the moment. I will try.
Noel was the type of person you find at any church or place of worship. The bedrock of any faith community. He visited anyone in the congregation who ended up in the hospital. He sang old hymns and prayed for them. He always had a ready smile that emanated from an inner light. He taught Bible studies and interspersed his teachings with stories so funny my sides would hurt from laughing loudly. Noel and his wife would host a group in our church’s fellowship hall every other Friday, replete with the proverbial potluck. We all laughed, talked, prayed, and listened to Noel’s teachings.
“Our spiritual journeys are the most important thing in our lives. Many other things matter to us a great deal, but most everything that we do is seen in the light of our journey home to God.” Robert Benson
I have profound sadness after the deaths of two men who mentored me and were spiritual fathers to me. Grief is overwhelming. It’s messy. Mourning Frank is complicated by the nature of his death, by murder. The man who attacked him had attacked a woman weeks before, and the powers that be in Fresno County (smack dab in the middle of California's Central Valley) released him without bail. The justice system failed. Saying I am angry is an understatement. I am angry at the Fresno County justice system that released a man who is a danger to society. At some moments, I almost shake with my rage.
I can’t numb this time. My “number” broke after years of healing. I offer up my suffering and ask God for comfort. I feel my emotions. It’s not easy after a life of stuffing them down with a mistaken notion that my survival depends on not feeling heavy emotions. I am not looking for survival any longer. I am looking to become who my Creator made me to be.
Resources
The Body Broken: Answering God’s Call to Love One Another by Robert Benson
Image by Stefan Schweihofer from Pixabay
I thank God for your open heart, dear Gina. Yes, loss is great when loved ones die. My heart goes out to you and all of us as we grieve these losses as well as others. Each February as Aaron's birthday comes I grieve his loss. It is healing day by day, but my heart still hurst when I think of his death. I am so grateful for the Holy Spirit who brings comfort to our hearts. Healing takes time and we just need to take one day at a time. Love you, dear girl <3
Such a good question where does one end and the other begin. When I lost my dad ( the only person with whom I felt safe my depression deepened. But then I found meditation and as I've told you before it saved my life