On May 27, 2019 I ran away.
I ran to the arms of family down on the coast of Florida. I ran to new memories. To new experiences. I ran to a place where I had no memories with him. No memories with dad. I ran away from the memories. I ran away from the reminders. I ran away from the pain. Or so I thought.
The funny thing about grief? You can’t run away from it. It doesn’t matter where you go - how far away the destination is or who or what is there waiting for you. You can’t run away.
You can pretend you’re running away. You can pretend you’re running a marathon and you’re just one short sprint away from the finish line, leaving that competitor named “Grief” in the dust. He’ll never catch up now. But then, just as you’re about to cross that line; just as you’re about to taste victory, Grief catches up to you. Not only does he pass you to win the race, but he trips you while doing so.
Suddenly, the finish line looks so far away. The run seems so futile. What once felt so sure now feels impossible. And you’ve learned you can’t run away from Grief. He’s like your shadow. He follows you around wherever you go. He’s not always visible but he’s ready to show up just as soon as the sun comes out.
It almost seems as if that’s when he likes to come out the most...when the sun is shining. When all you should be feeling is joy. When all you should be tasting is sweet. But the sadness creeps in and a bitter taste soon rests on your tongue.
Sometimes I wonder if every beautiful, fun, joyful, happy, blessed moment in life from here on out will be sweetbitter.
Sweetbitter. I know it’s not a word, but bittersweet doesn’t cut it. It implies that the bitter hits first but in this case, it doesn’t. I almost wish it would. I wish that the bitter would hit first, only to be overshadowed by the sweetness of the moment. But it doesn’t.
I taste the sweet first. And for a moment, life feels like it once was. For a joyful, blissful, contented moment, life feels like it was before he died. And then the bitter taste settles on my tongue. I remember that life is no longer what it once was. And while I can still feel some of the joy that was present just milliseconds ago, I can’t help but feel melancholy at the thought of wanting to share this happy moment with my dad. I can’t block off the thought that pops into my head of “oh, I should tell dad this” or “oh, dad is gonna love this”.
Sweetbitter. That’s my new word. It may never be added to Webster’s dictionary, but it’s been added to mine. It’s the best way to describe this season of grief. This season of waiting for the day when God will wipe my tears away.
(Please do not misunderstand what I am saying. I in no way regret running down to Florida to see my family. To celebrate my beautiful cousin on her big day. These will always be memories I treasure. Special days filled with genuine smiles, hearty laughter, and love. They just happen to have been tinged with the sweetbitterness of grief, too. I have no doubt it was the same for the rest of my family.)
I ran away. Or at least I tried. But I guess you can’t outrun the sweetbitterness of grief. And maybe you shouldn’t try. Maybe there’s something to be learned. Maybe there’s encouragement to be found even amidst the pain. In fact, there’s no “maybe” about it at all. There is something to be learned. There is encouragement to be found.
It’s true that you can’t run away from grief. It’s true that you shouldn’t let it be what controls your emotions and your actions. But it’s also true that you can learn from it. You can learn to lean better on God’s strength. You can use your experience with it to comfort others in the future. You can look at it as a reminder of a better future. A future we look forward to as Christians. A reminder that this broken world, filled with sin and death, is not our final home. After all, we’re all “just passing thru”, right?
“But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about those who are asleep, that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have fallen asleep.
For this we declare to you by a word from the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a cry of command, with the voice of an archangel, and with the sound of the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we will always be with the Lord. Therefore ENCOURAGE one another with these words.” - 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18