Loss & Grief

I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was sitting at Bloc Coffee Company in Price Hill on the Monday before Thanksgiving of 2019 meeting with a local pastor friend of mine when I got a text message from my wife Tiffany. The text from Tiffany, in short, communicated that something didn’t feel right with her body and that she was going to call her Doctor. The Doctor had recommended that Tiffany pick up a home pregnancy test on her way home and call the next morning with the results. At this point in our lives, we should have invested in First Response as we had purchased what seemed like thousands of home pregnancy tests. I think we both assumed that this would be like every other test we had taken over our nine-year journey through infertility. In fact, I often boasted in the fact that while we’ve experienced tremendous emotional pain in this journey we were thankful we’ve never experienced the pain of miscarriage as so many of our friends had. Along with this, we had never even experienced the joy of a positive pregnancy test. After nine years filled with much hope and many disappointments, we had resolved that God in his providence would grow our family solely through other means, and we had peace with that. Tiffany picked up a home pregnancy test on the way home from work that Monday and took it. For the first time in our twelve years of marriage, we were looking at a positive home pregnancy test. It felt a bit surreal. 

Following the Doctor’s orders, we called the next morning and she sent Tiffany for bloodwork. The Doctor called later that afternoon and for the first time in our lives, the word miscarriage became personal as she shared that this is what she thought Tiffany was experiencing.  We ended up talking the Doctor into seeing us that afternoon instead of waiting until “Black Friday”. We dropped our son off at a friend’s home who lived near Tiffany’s doctor and went in for the ultrasound which confirmed that Tiffany had a miscarriage. Loss had never felt so real as it did at that moment. Naturally, we cried together, and our minds were flooded with all the questions. “Why would God allow us to get pregnant now after such a long and painful journey?” “Why would God allow Tiffany to get pregnant only to find out less than 24 hours later that she was no longer pregnant?” Other questions flooded our minds like,  “What does this mean for our ability to get pregnant?” “Would we get more intentional in our pursuit of pregnancy in the future?” “How would we and with whom would we share this with?” We didn’t commit to finding answers at that moment and recognized the importance of feeling what we were feeling and paying attention to those feelings. I don’t think we imagined what grief would look like at that moment, but I know grieving this loss would be different and more personal than many of the other things we had grieved in the past. It’s been a little over a year since that emotional rollercoaster of a few days before the Thanksgiving Holiday, and there are days that the grief still feels very overwhelming. I wish I could write about the ways we have seen God redeem these circumstances and could articulate clear answers to our many questions, but to do so wouldn’t be authentic. We still have questions, we still have many moments of discouragement, confusion, and even frustration. In so many ways, we are still grieving, yet pursuing to do so as those who have hope. 

In 1 Thessalonians 4:13, the Apostle Paul writes this about grief, “But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.” I by no means think that Tiffany and I have perfected this grieving as those who have hope, nor do I consider myself to be an expert on the subject. There are many others more qualified to speak and write on the subject than I am. Even still we have learned and continue to learn much about the importance of and the process of grief. Paul assumes that grief is a part of life. This is so true, isn’t it? Loss is as much a part of life as gain. Death is as much a part of life as birth. So much so that Henri Nouwen the late catholic theologian said, “I am beginning to see that much of praying is grieving.” This has certainly been my experience. We all experience far more loss throughout our lives than we recognize.  Loss happens in so many ways. Some of these ways are tangible, physical, and easy to identify, such as the death of a family member, a miscarriage, the loss of a job, or the severing of a relationship. Being able to identify the loss doesn’t mitigate the pain, or make it easier to grieve but at least we know what it is we should be grieving. What do we do when the loss that we experience isn’t tangible and easily identifiable? I’m learning that loss often occurs in the space between my expectation for relationships and circumstances and the reality of those relationships and circumstances. These emotional losses can be just as painful as the physical losses and many times they go hand and hand. In addition to the loss incurred during our journey through miscarriage, there has been much loss by way of our expectations for circumstance and the way Tiffany and I relate to each other, and the way we both relate to God. 

 Life as of late seems like it’s marked by loss. In addition to the story of miscarriage shared above and the collective loss that we are all experiencing connected to the Covid-19 Pandemic, I’ve lost several close friends and family members in the past six months. I went to the funeral of one of my best childhood friends this past Friday and my writing of this blog was interrupted to go meet with and pray with some family members as we said goodbye to a great Aunt that I grew up living across the street from. In many ways, 2019-2021 so far feels like one massive stretch of loss and yet, I’m often overwhelmed by God’s grace and find myself reflecting often on the declaration of the Prophet Jeremiah in Lamentations 3:22-23 which says, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;  his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” We’ve all read these verses, heard them referenced in a sermon, or even seen them hanging on someone’s wall. They’re beautiful in their own right, that’s for sure. However, the context of what Jeremiah was experiencing as he writes them makes them all the more beautiful, and comforting. Jerusalem was destroyed, and Jeremiah had lost friends, family, and ministry. We learn so much about loss, grief, and God’s grace by way of lament from Jeremiah. Lamentations along with Job and approximately 70 percent of the Psalms are given to us as examples of lament. In many ways lament is the language that God gives us to process and express loss, it’s the language of loss. I’d encourage you to get well acquainted with some of these passages of lament and refer to them often, as I have done over the past few years.

If this past season has taught me anything, it’s the importance of and the grace of lament in my life. It’s been how God’s mercies have continued to be new each morning even in the midst of such tremendous loss and this unceasing season of grief. Some other things I’ve learned throughout this season of loss and grief is the importance of God’s presence and being present with God through it. Many days are filled with tears and discouragement, some are filled with yelling and frustration and yet God has been faithful to meet us in the discouragement and the frustration. Part of grieving is learning to be who we are, where we are, and to be there with Jesus. The temptation often is to place my hope in the past through the certainty of questions answered or to place my hope in the future fading of the feelings that I am currently experiencing. I believe when Paul instructs the believers of Thessalonica to grieve, but to not do so as someone without hope he’s pointing us to the hope that is found in the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ. For the believer, loss is the reminder that this world and the things contained within are temporary. It’s a reminder of the uncertainty of what is temporal and points us to place hope in Christ, who is certain and is eternal. Hope is not found in questions answered, the absence of pain, and a life with no loss, hope is found in a person. A person that moves near us in our pain and suffering and doesn’t remove or distance himself from it. Someone who is well acquainted with pain, suffering, and grief. 

Loss has always been a part of the stories of the people of God. In Exodus chapter 2 the nation of Israel had experienced tremendous loss through slavery, injustice, and death of many firstborn children. They felt abandoned by God and felt the loss of expectations that he would keep His promises to them. They experienced much loss and had much to grieve. Verses 23 through 25 of Exodus 2 says this, “During those many days the king of Egypt died, and the people of Israel groaned because of their slavery and cried out for help. Their cry for rescue from slavery came up to God. And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. God saw the people of Israel—and God knew”. I’ve returned to this passage often throughout this season of grief, encouraged to keep crying out to and comforted by a God who hears me, a God who remembers the promises He has made to me in Christ, a God who sees me and a God who knows exactly what I’m experiencing. My prayer as you grieve loss in your life is that you would experience the same.

Submitted by: Matt Korte