Good Grief

Dear Mia,

I am a fan of the Peanuts comics and cartoons. One of the common catch phrases from those cartoons and comics is the exasperated exclamation, "Good Grief!" At first glance, it is quite the oxymoron. "How can grief be good?" you might ask. Well, it's quite complex, but I think we are witnessing it play out in your young life. 

When we came to China to get you, the first couple days were great! You slept soundly, played hard, and smiled often. It was definitely harmonious, but reality had not set in. Our time together started out a bit like a slumber party...staying up late, eating snacks, playing games, and giggling a lot...until you realized you were stuck with us, these strange looking and funny sounding people. That's when you began to miss your familiar surroundings and felt out of place. You cried...a lot. You whined...a lot. You raged...a lot. It was so hard on you. It became very hard on mommy and me. 

Comparatively speaking, you had it pretty good in the orphanage; at least from what we can tell. In the pictures we were given, and the way you interacted with your nanny who was there when we took custody of you, you had a better experience than many in similar situations. You had a special bond with your nanny named, Lei. In the pictures from the orphanage, when one of the other care givers would hold you, your body language said, "No, thank you." But not when Lei held you. When she held you, it was obvious there was a bond there. You latched on to her, had your head on her shoulder, and seemed genuinely safe, comfortable, and happy. And she cried when we left with you. It warmed our hearts to see, knowing you had the ability to form an attachment with someone after all you had been through in your young life. 

Shortly after your Gotcha Day, you began calling out for Lei. You called out for her when you were scared. You called out for her when you were sad. You even called out for you when you were happy and proud; in fact, one day while we were still in the hotel and we were running down the hall, you hollered out, "Lei, Lei" as though to say, "Hey, look what I can do!" It was sweet and heartbreaking all at the same time. You love Lei and miss her very much, and you grieve her in a visceral way. 

Grief is a profoundly personal experience. No two people grieve in quite the same way. As a result, non-grievers can be at a loss for words when encountering someone who is going through such a painful period of loss. People can tell you it is going to be ok. People can tell you that you will get through it. People can tell you that you, or the subject of your loss, is in a better place. While all of these might be true when you're going through them, that's about the last thing you want to hear. When you're grieving, you want and need to feel the pain. You want and need to deal with the weight of the loss. Others who aren't grieving are easily made uncomfortable with grief, so they will try to distract you or dissuade you from feeling what cannot be ignored. 

There have been a handful of times when I have experienced the depth of heartbreaking and soul crushing loss. Those losses hurt so terribly and I still carry them with me each and every day of my life. They shape me and help enlighten my compassion core so I am not so quick to dismiss someone else in their grief. Thinking about loved ones lost, they might be in a better place, but I am not. Their suffering might be over, but mine just began. I might not have been able to really hold the object of my affection, but that does not mean my heart isn't broken over the loss of hope. Grief hurts, and sometimes all we need to know is it's okay to not be okay. 

Mia, I am so sorry your heart is broken over Lei. This is something mommy and I choose to enter into you with, and help you recover. We have pictures of you and Lei that we will gladly share with you. We are happy to tell you about the two days we were able to spend time with her, how you loved her, and how she cried when we left with you. We know more clearly now how it takes a special person to occupy such a significant part of your heart, and we want to honor her memory in your life, even though the time will come when you will likely not remember her. But I can assure you of this, based on what I saw, she will never forget you. 

I make these promises about the future, but we still must deal with your grief today. I remember when your Poppy Charlie died long before you were born, a friend of mine wisely said the only way to deal with grief is to go through it, because you can't go over it, under it, or around it...you must go through it. And that is what we are here to help you do. Go through it. 

That does not mean it will be easy, though. I know you will still shed many a tear over Lei. I know you will still probably lose more sleep after dreaming about her. And I know you will have a passing recollection of her while playing that will send you into a raging tantrum that mommy and I will not be able to fully understand. But we are here for you. 

I had a moment of conviction last week while we were walking around the neighborhood and I was thinking about your grief. I thought about how when I was hurting so deeply, I didn't want anyone to try and minimize it or talk me out of it. I wanted to be okay not being okay. I wanted my feelings to be acknowledged, which validated my memories and wounded heart. After all, God made us to love and to feel, and when we experience loss, it's hard. This then provides us the opportunity to turn to God and the people He's placed in our life to receive comfort while knowing we can be okay not being okay. 

There have already been more times than I want to admit when I was uncomfortable in your grief. You would come to me with arms outstretched and just need to be held in all of your sobbing, snotting, and slobbering glory. I also admit there have been times I would try to distract you with toys or snacks to make myself feel better. But the person who needs to feel is you. You need to feel your pain so you can process your grief and begin to heal. A counselor I consulted about your tantrums told me that there are times when we need to permit your tantrums, not prevent them, because a good cry can be very cathartic thanks to the chemicals that are released when we do. And as you cry, we are advised to stay right there with you so your heart can feel the pain and your brain can begin to heal as you feel the comfort from mommy and me, strengthening those lasting attachments that will weather any storm. 

Jesus had a beautiful invitation as recorded in the book of Matthew: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (11:28-30) 

Jesus did not say come to me and I will try to distract you with toys or snacks. The invitation is to come to him and just be. That is a lesson I am learning anew for myself. When you come to me as a sobbing, snotting, and slobbering mess, you can know I am your daddy who is fully able to take the yelling, wailing, and flailing. And I am here to let you know it's okay to not be okay until it is okay. 

But until then, know that when you feel the overwhelming sense of anger and sadness come out of nowhere, we are here to hold you, rock you, soothe you, and receive the flurry of punches and kicks as you rage in your grief. It is hard and it might make us uncomfortable, but it is what you need right now. 

Good grief, indeed!

Love,

Dad