Ambushed by Grief

“Your days of sorrow will end.”
Isaiah 60:21 (NIV)

It’s been almost six months since James Bruce’s death. In many ways it all still seems surreal. Overall, our family is adjusting to our new “normal,” something we didn’t have for the 38 years and 12 days of James Bruce’s earthly life. And yet, the old “normal” was our normal, so this last six months has been new territory for all of us. We are having better days, but there are still hard moments and grief triggers.

Last week I spoke to a group of working women on finding balance with our work, family, and community. A few minutes into my talk, the event’s moderator interrupted and said, “Tell them a little bit about James Bruce first.” Only later did I realize that this was probably my only speaking engagement where James Bruce wasn’t the first thing I talked about.

Of all the grief advice that Bruce and I received immediately following James Bruce’s death, the best is this:

Grief is a process; it takes time.
Everyone grieves in his own way.
You don’t get over grief; you get through it.

Bruce and I are finding each statement to be true.

Last Friday we were drinking our morning coffee and a single tear slowly trickled down my left cheek as I told Bruce, “I still miss him.” He surprised me by responding, “I’m afraid that I’m getting numb to missing him.”

Truthfully, we’ve had a complete reversal from our early days of grief. Bruce’s grief was so profound initially. He was broken. I, on the other hand, was in my “discipline your emotions and let’s just do what we’ve got to do to get through this” survival mode. But that resolve can only last so long. Queen Elisabeth was right: “Grief is the price we pay for love.”

Writing has helped me process my grief. Time and tears have also helped. We are making progress and I am grateful. But I still have a hole in my heart in the place that was once just for James Bruce. I miss his beautiful hazel eyes; his hymn singing as he wandered through our house; the look of pure joy on his face when he worshipped. But most of all, I miss James Bruce calling me “Mama!” Everyone else calls me “Mom.”

My grief heart work is ongoing. I still can’t re-read the hundreds of cards, notes, and letters that came in the days and weeks following James Bruce’s death. I know myself too well and for now, it’s enough to know the cards are still there when I’m ready to read them again.

Last Friday morning’s tear was just the beginning of what turned out to be a hard grief day. I was volunteering at Big Oak Ranch’s Shed. I arrived a few minutes early and our team leader, Miss Jeanne, greeted me by saying, “I’m so glad I caught you before the others arrive. I want you to know that I’ve learned something from you. I learned not to ask a grieving person, “How are you?” but instead to ask, “How are you today? I used it when I spoke recently to a young widow who had just lost her husband. She responded, ‘Not so good today.’ So thank you for teaching me that.”

I quickly hugged Miss Jeanne and told her James Bruce and God continue to teach and change me too.

Later that day, my sweet friend Carol sent me a James Bruce birthday photo from 2019. The picture had popped up on Carol’s phone as a photo memory. Carol wanted me to know she was remembering James Bruce. Her kindness was a large God-given tender mercy and a small grief trigger.

But later I was absolutely ambushed by grief at my routine doctor’s office visit. The appointment was uneventful until my check-out. The receptionist said, “The doctor wants to see you in 6 months.”

I nodded and mentally calculated the end of January.

“How about Wednesday at 9 AM in 6 months?” she asked.

Again, I nodded absently as she handed me my appointment card. It read, “February 1, 2023.”

James Bruce’s birthday.
February 1, 2023 will be the first birthday since his death. That little appointment reminder was a grief trigger that sent me into a tailspin for the rest of Friday.

Thankfully God didn’t leave me in my grief pit. God, the God of all comfort (2 Corinthians 1:3), used His Word to encourage and strengthen me. Friday night I was cross-referencing a verse when I read, “Your days of sorrow will end” (Isaiah 60:21).

With those words my gaze slowly turned from what I am missing here to what James Bruce has gained in heaven. My grief lightened as I considered the hope of heaven, the life everlasting, and James Bruce joyfully joining the angelic chorus to sing the song of the Lamb. (Revelation 15:3)

James Bruce’s days of sorrow have ended!

“Your days of sorrow will end.” Isaiah 60:21 (NIV)

“Your days of sorrow will end.”
Isaiah 60:21 (NIV)