We’ve all experienced loss. Maybe the loss of a spouse through death or divorce, the loss of a job, the loss of a life we’d hoped to live or an exciting career that never materialized. 

With loss comes grief or great sorrow and this sorrow, like a sudden rainstorm in summer, is unpredictable, unwanted and we wonder how long it is supposed to last.

There is something to say about grief though. Unlike anything else, it teaches us patience.

Remembering Elliott

If our son Elliott had lived, he would have turned 34 years of age on June 27th. But he didn’t live. Instead, he died. The day before I went into labor, a little knot had formed in the umbilical cord. It tightened, cutting off his supply of oxygen and ended his life. 

I was not prepared for his death nor the grief and sadness in the aftermath. I hadn’t planned for sorrow, I’d planned for joy, the kind of joy that only a newborn brings. 

We’d already finished the nursery, filled a dresser with baby clothes and our two other sons anticipated the arrival of their little brother. But coming home from the hospital, without Elliott, was a sad day for everyone. 

I had no idea how I’d live with the sorrow that encased my heart and consumed my energy. Moving forward with life felt impossible; feeling joy ever again, improbable. 

How is it then, that, although I remember my son’s agonizing birth and death, grief no longer weighs me down? Is it because of the old adage that time heals? No, I do not think so because time alone does not heal a broken heart. Allowing time to pass without allowing grief to have its way with us, may only produce bitterness. But, when we accept the sorrow, the sadness and the hurt, as something that can work in us like nothing else can, then patience, resolve, brave endurance, maturity and stick to it ness can be the result. 

Recently, I’ve been riding my road bike along a new route, one that has rolling hills, and long steep inclines. As much as I like flat roadways or cruising downhill, it is only when I ride my bike uphill that I feel the engagement of my gluteus maximus and build butt muscle. 

When I first started riding the new route, I wondered if I’d ever make it up the inclines. Now that I’ve ridden those hills more than once, I no longer have doubts. I know I will make it.  Do I sweat? Yes. Do my muscles burn? Yes. Is it still hard work? Yes, but, I’ve trained my muscles to do the work that those hills present.  

Grief, like riding a bike uphill, builds in us, if we allow it to, endurance and fortitude. Thirty-four years ago I had no idea how I’d move forward in life, but I found that all I had to do was to live one day at a time. I still had two other sons and a husband who needed me to cook, do the laundry and clean the house. My sons still needed me to nurture and love them, my husband still needed me to relate to him as my husband. As hard as it was to move on, I moved on with life with grief alongside. 

As often as I was tempted to isolate myself, give up on my faith, or lie about the intensity of the pain, I knew that would never work. Grief would do its work and when the work was done, I’d be left with patience and feel joy once again.

Why bother with patience? Patience is a virtue that is not for the faint of heart because obtaining patience comes from a heart that is resolved.