My Grief Journey as a Believer: The Beginning and The End and The Beginning

Some days on the grief journey are pretty good, and sometimes I just get that feeling inside: today’s going to be a hard one.? Even when I’m doing all the right things (for me, at least), with all the right people, the pain still hits.?? Of course it does!? And sometimes I just know to brace myself because today is going to be a bumpy ride.

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I’ve been to church quite a few times since losing Darren, sometimes going on my own (which wasn’t nearly as difficult as I expected), and sometimes with our son Zack.? This weekend Zack is out of town, and our friends Michelle and Scott and I had talked about meeting at the 11 a.m. service.? I looked forward to meeting up with them and sitting with them for the first time.?

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It was the first Sunday of the month, meaning it was also “communion Sunday” (my favorite).? I wasn’t thinking about what day it was until I saw the greeter at the church doors holding a large basket. ?All believers, we who have accepted Jesus into our hearts, have the honor of taking one of the small, hourglass-shaped containers that hold a tiny cracker in one side and a sip of grape juice in the other.

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I arrived just as the service was about to get started, and the lights were dimming for the opening prayer.? After looking around when the lights came back up, I couldn’t find my friends, so I climbed the stairs to my regular refuge, the darker, smaller second level of the worship center.? Next thing I knew, I felt two hands gently rest on my shoulders; Scott had seen me and followed me up the stairs so he could lead me back down to where he and Michelle were sitting.

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Scott guided me into the row where I’d be next to Michelle, with him on the other side.? I wondered, should I switch spots with him so they could sit next to each other?? But as we sang, ?that worry floated away.

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The morning’s message was great, the music was on point, and I was feeling surrounded by the love of God.? When time for communion came—putting the cracker in my mouth, signifying the body of Christ, then taking in the grape juice that signifies the blood of Christ—my mind went to two very distinct moments of my life.

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Just like it was yesterday, I was back in our living room nearly 20 years ago, to the night when visitors from our new church called on our family. ?Having avoided plenty of church visitors in our married life (I’m now embarrassed to say, but it’s true), we were at a new stage where we finally wanted—needed—to get up close and personal with Jesus.? That night, Darren and I accepted Christ into our hearts, where He has remained locked every day thereafter.? ??

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The other distinct moment on my mind was that day in May when the boys and I said goodbye to Darren, the day he went to be with Jesus.? Those last moments were all about expressing our infinite love for Darren, giving him permission to “rest easy, big guy,” and trying to assure him that we would take care of each other.? Looking into his beautiful green eyes for the first time in 10 days, it was a sweet goodbye, and the worst moment of my life.? As I sat in church recalling those sad moments (which I usually try to gently push to the back of my mind), I could almost see Darren’s spirit slipping out of his very tired body, making its way to heaven.

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December 3, 2003 was Day 1 of Darren’s and my journey as believers.? As I continue on my journey, I know where Darren today.? His time on earth ended in May, and that was just another beginning for him as a believer.? And I know that when my time comes, I’ll be with him again. ?

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Back to this week’s church service, I stopped worrying about being inserted between my friends.? Instead, I was thankful that, as I cried a waterfall of tears, I was sitting between two “friends who are family” who loved Darren and who love Jesus and who love me.

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And I knew at that moment in time, I was exactly where God and Darren wanted me to be.