A few months ago, an advertising message on the side of a truck caught my eye.
It was for one of those remediation companies that comes into your house after your basement has flooded to clean up the mess. They pull up the soggy carpet, remove the baseboard, drill air holes along the bottom of the drywall and run large, loud fans for several days to dry everything out.
Their slogan—the phrase that caught my eye as I was driving past—summed up the desired end result in five simple words: “Like it never even happened.”
When I saw the truck, I was on my way to meet a friend who had reached out to me after both my parents died last spring. She knew a bit of what I was feeling; her father died several years ago after battling cancer, and her mom passed away unexpectedly in 2018.
When I noticed the slogan, she was more than a year into her most recent grief journey; mine had only just begun. Given the choice, though, I think both of us would prefer some kind of sure-fire rehabilitation process that would return our hearts to what they were before—“Like it never even happened.”
That’s not how it works, of course. Time marches on, but sadness, loss and memories leave indelible marks. Life eventually returns to normal, but the new normal is not like the old normal.
And maybe that’s not entirely a bad thing. Psalm 147:3 says that God “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” We’re not given a timetable or syllabus for this. In the process, we might find ourselves irrevocably changed, in ways we never could have imagined.
Even so, as our wounds slowly begin to heal, we gradually become more equipped to relate to and comfort others whose pain or grief is fresher.
I’ve been on the receiving end of this kind of comfort many times during the last few years—in the church lobby, over coffee at Panera, driving down the road with an ear pressed to my phone, even in the cracker aisle at the grocery store.
When I see tears glimmering in a friend’s eyes as I talk, I know she’s really hearing me. She might not be able to feel all the nuances of my pain, but she is honestly trying to understand.
In a world that insists on turning despite the inertia that has invaded my heart, that is a huge gift.
There may never come a point—this side of heaven, anyway—where we can confidently switch our grief status to “over it.” With God, though, pain always has a purpose. We can’t act like it never happened, but if we are willing, He will always provide us with ways to use it for His glory.
♥ Lois
This post is part of a collection called Help for Parent Loss. To read more, please click here.
As our wounds slowly begin to heal, we gradually become more equipped to relate to and comfort others whose pain or grief is fresher. Share on X With God, pain always has a purpose. Share on X