One of the most frequent questions I get from people outside of my immediate circle is, “How do you get through loss?” My answer really varies from person to person, but a recent tragedy led me to put my response in writing. So here it is, an open letter to that person navigating the loss of a loved one.
 
To: The person experiencing loss
From: A person experiencing loss
 
You are alive. Despite the feeling of being numb, dead, disconnected and out of control, you are alive. Every moment you are breathing is a moment that you are surviving. This means that you are already one step further than you thought you'd be. God is your complete life-support, for you can’t do this season on your own. Yes, you are out of control. Yes, it feels unfair. Yes, God is still good and faithful, but it is normal to wonder where He is at a time like now; it is normal to wonder how or why and to explore your unanswered questions.
 
The phone calls and messages you are getting will eventually die down. For now, it is ok not to respond. It is ok to find grave annoyance at what is meant to be the helpful “God has it under control” and “I am praying for you.” People mean well and while the messages seem redundant and empty right now, you will eventually look back and realize that the chorus of prayers is what kept you. Meanwhile, it is ok not to not to feel ok. It is ok to lack an understanding of God’s purpose in this experience. It’s ok to feel overwhelmed by the tasks to be done. It is ok. For now, give yourself the grace to grieve. Though they feel endless, your tears will stop. And yes, you will smile and laugh again. And after the laughter you will cry again...really hard. But you will re-discover joy and peace.  You will feel guilty the first time you actually feel “ok.” You will feel awkward at the unexpected feeling of liberation that comes with death, especially if you were the primary caretaker of your loved one. There will come a time when the memories scrolling through your mind slow down; when memories of your loved one are met with an unexpected laugh or a soft smile; a time when you let go- not of the person, but of this “feeling” that is so daunting.
 
Most importantly, though it may not seem like it in this experience, you will learn so many new and unexpected dimensions of God’s love and provision for you. You’ve met the God who took away, perhaps unexpectedly. Now, prepare to meet the God of restoration. Prepare to embark on unmarked territory to find your new normal. For now, your normal may be filled with tears, hopelessness, insecurity, fear, regret, indifference or even ambiguity. But soon, those feelings will be replaced with God's peace, God's blessed assurance and the re-assurance that you are ok. You will relinquish regret.  Everything really is going to be ok.

Yours in Christ,

​Pastor Kiya

This morning I sat in church as the names were read of those who recently transitioned. As I sat listening to the chorus of names, my heart bled for the families left to experience what I call the “nightmare.” I wish I could find another word more peaceful and angelic, but honestly the days lingering between a loved one’s death and their actual funeral is like living through a nightmare from which you cannot wake up. Every breath feels like your last and every thought is encompassed with a lack of control.

I remember dreading every moment I was awake following mom’s death. There was this understanding that I had to survive, but this relentless ambiguity in how I would. Waking up was painful; living was painful. It seemed like everything I did was a heavy reminder of the burdensome grief that was suffocating me. As much as I dreaded her death, I dreaded her funeral a million times more. Endless cards, calls, texts and messages came in promising prayers of comfort and relief, but even those became liken to a chorus of numb melancholy.
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It’s hard to say the exact moment in which this nightmare ends, for there are days even now that the nightmare resurfaces; days when I just want to sleep instead of be awake; days when I burst into unexpected tears; days when the burden of losing my parents still feels unbearable; days when I can literally hear Mom taking her final breath; days when I am living in a nightmare. Yet, despite those days of emotional claustrophobia, I always wake up. And as time passes, the days do not linger as long; the tears are more quickly wiped away, and I am reminded that my reality is better than any dream.

Today, while sitting in a home-going service, it hit me that I’ve been to three funerals in the past four days. It is the plight of a pastor, yet still a sobering thought to think that three times in four days I’ve seen the stream of painful tears run down the faces of the bereaved; three times I’ve seen families take the final look at their loved one as the casket slowly closed; three times I’ve heard preachers give words of comfort to fill in the gaps of uncertainty and grief. I was only on the program at one of the services, yet in four days I’ve attended three funerals.
 
Honestly, I’m not a fan of funerals, but I attend them for the simple fact that there is power in showing up. I learned this power at the funerals of my parents’ as dozens and dozens of people showed up in respect, love and solidarity. Of course, many of the people were dear friends and loved ones, but several faces were only vaguely familiar.
 
As I sat gazing at my mother’s lifeless body, I recall a shadow that caught my attention. As I broke the gaze to satisfy my curiosity, my eyes were greeted by a group of friendly faces from my church. This would have been expected, only the faces I saw were not totally familiar. Instead, they were people who I had no idea would even show up. Leaders of my church and community who I didn’t even know knew my name; classmates I hadn’t seen in 10+ years; friends from out of state. People near and far showed up.
 
While my parents’ funerals are a blur and I cannot tell you what scripture was read and I do not remember the sermon titles, I do remember who showed up. To this very day, I thank God for each and every person who showed up.