“Have you ever seen the aftermath of a hurricane?”
This was the widower’s response when I asked him if the second year is any easier than the first. I didn’t like where this was going. “Only in pictures,” I replied.
He went on to explain. Often, the aftermath of a terrible storm is even worse than the storm itself. Storm surges, flooding and large battering waves can result in loss of life and cause massive destruction. Structural damage, broken glass, falling debris, damaged trees, power outages and floding pose dangerous risks. Hurricanes can contaminate the public water supply, making it undrinkable. This can go on for a while.
At first, relatives, friends and neighbors may provide basic necessities like shelter, transportation, food and water. Churches and non-profits jump in to offer practical and spiritual help. The work and the distraction make the load lighter and the days shorter.
After a while, this support dissipates, and everything gets even more difficult – physically, mentally, spiritually and emotionally. Because terrible storms are just the beginning of a long and frustrating process for anyone who loses their home and possessions.
Grief, like a hurricane, rips through your life, leaving nothing the same. No matter how you prepare, the devastation is remarkable. Although each experience is unique, recovery usually takes many years. Eventually, support dissipates and, one day, the survivors find themselves standing alone, looking out over the rubble, wondering if it’s even possible to rebuild.
Perhaps you are finally past the dreaded one year anniversary of your loss. “No more firsts!” you think. You’ve been holding your breath and eagerly anticipating the exhale that you think will bring relief. But your breath catches and the relief is not yet to be.
The hurricane that ripped through your life and destroyed everything you once were is now a memory. Between grief fog, the busyness of those first months and the outpouring of love from friends and family, you somehow made it through that first year. But the aftermath continues, with storm surges that make moving forward almost unthinkable. You look out over the rubble and wonder if rebuilding a life worth living is even possible.
With devastating storms, permanent displacement is a real problem, as the full population of a post-disaster community is almost never recovered. Some people just can’t return and rebuild after such destruction. Sadly, this is sometimes true for grievers, as well.
I am now past the one-year mark of my widowhood. The storm surge has returned to the ocean and the water has receded. Our immediate needs were met and any additional crisis, abated. Most everyone has returned to life as usual. But for me, there is still much work to be done. The tempest has left its mark and, with the rubble removed, I can see the structure is unstable. So I stand here, assessing the damage, and realize we can’t live here any more.
Now, I have a choice. Rebuild, or become permanently displaced. Our foundation was rock solid, so we start there. Jeremy built our family on faith in God, Christ-like love for each other, faithfulness to the Word and service to others. He nailed it down with a whole lot of grace and a good bit of humor. All of that remains, so we rebuild: brick upon brick, precept upon precept, one foot in front of the other—not forgetting the past, but building upon it.
Because we still live. And to live means to honor the One who gave us life.
In so doing, I believe we also honor the legacy of the one who went to Heaven before us. No, life will never be the same, but he will always be part of it, because he built the foundation.
Grief was—and is—a most devastating storm, leaving an indelible mark on the shores of our hearts. But the future is not a total loss, because we still have a firm foundation, built on the Solid Rock.
“The bricks have fallen, but we will rebuild…” Isaiah 9:10
12/02/22