In the opening prayer at the ceremony, I gave God thanks for the life of the sister who died, and for the spirit of love that surrounded her memory on that special day and always. As is often the case when praying for a lost loved one, I could feel the weight of the words on the congregation. But it felt very appropriate given what I was praying for and once the prayer was concluded, the wedding proceeded in joyous fashion.

After the ceremony, while I was waiting to have my picture taken, I ventured across the patio on which the wedding had been held in order to talk with the bride’s parents. The girl’s father shook my hand and thanked me for officiating, and for every word I said, especially for the acknowledgment of his late daughter. He then said that the bride had not given him or anyone else a heads-up that she had asked me to mention her sister in the ceremony. I realized what a shock it must have been to hear me pray for her unexpectedly. I apologized and said that if I had realized the bride had not told them about her request, I would have certainly made an effort to clue-them-in myself before the ceremony.

At that point the man gestured to his youngest daughter, who had been the stand-in Maid of Honor. I believe she was around ten years old. She had her face in her hands and she was crying. Her mother was sitting next to her with her arm around the girl’s shoulder. I apologized again to the dad for shocking the family by bringing up their loss without warning. He said, “It’s O.K. The feelings had to come out some time anyway.” I know he was referring mostly to his young daughter’s feelings of loss for the sister she had barely known. But there was also something in his expression that told me he was speaking not just for her, but for the whole family. In other words, my strong sense was that grief was just below the surface for them much of the time. At that point he traded places with his wife, with whom I then had a similar conversation. Finally, I offered my sympathies to the little girl before taking my place with the newlyweds for picture time.

On my drive home I thought a great deal about the dad’s comment. It seemed likely that after suffering the tragic death of a child, and a sister, this family had probably gone the way of so many people – they had never fully grieved their loss. Of course, a loved one who passes away will never, nor should ever be forgotten by the people they leave behind. And even if the person is in the oft-referenced “better place,” meaning heaven, it is a simple fact that they will never again walk the earth with the people who loved them, never celebrate another birthday or Christmas, never attend another wedding. There will always be an empty spot in the hearts of those who were closest to the deceased. But, nine years is a long time for tears of loss to be lurking just below the surface of the survivors’ emotions.

The experience brought to mind one of my seminary classes which focused on ministering to those who had been touched by loss. At some point in the class our professor had each of us share something in our lives which we were actively grieving. I shouldn’t have been surprised (and yet I was) that each and every one of the fifteen or so class members was in a grieving process over something significant. Many were dealing with deaths, some with a divorce or other broken relationship, some with a loss due to a serious health issue they or someone they knew was facing, and so on. But every single one of us, the professor included was grieving something.

What makes it so hard to let go of our losses? At most every funeral I conduct I encourage the family members to allow themselves and one another to grieve, “no matter how long it takes.” By that I mean they should be sad, as sad as they need to be, for as long as that sadness may last; that they should not rush their grief, nor tell others they have grieved long enough and should be “over it”. I want to make sure they know that no one can decide for them what “long enough” looks like.

At the same time, I do believe that grieving is a process, which in part means that it moves along a continuum. My partner in ministry Allen Eaton says asks people, “How do you rate your grief, if a 1 means you’re totally fine and 10 means you’re so sad you can’t get out of bed.” The idea that follows is that day-by day, a healthy grieving process moves incrementally from a higher number to a lower one. If a person is stuck at a grief level of 7 for a year, they’re probably not moving through a healthy process and may be stuck.

Thinking of grief as a burden we must carry, my mind goes to Matthew 11. Jesus tells us to exchange burdens with Him, to let him teach us how to live life, to take on his light load and give him the heavy load we carry (11:28-30). He felt everything we feel, including grief. He can teach us how to grieve.
There are few burdens greater than the one we carry when we lose a person we love. Even if we’re confident in the deepest part of our being that we’ll be reunited with them in heaven, they still won’t be with us in this life again. If we give our yoke of grief to Jesus daily, He will help us move from a 10 to a 1 on the continuum. And He will do that in His time, in the time of the Father, which is perfect.

What losses have you suffered? Where are you on the grief continuum for each? Is there something that keeps you from turning that burden over to Jesus? What is holding you back?