Good grief

Kevin calls it Good Grief. “Grieving is normal. Loss is painful. Grieve and grieve well.” Standing before a large assembly of family, friends and coworkers gathered for the funeral of 16 year old Andrew, he expects tears and mourning. He understands grief.

His grief is different. It is the grief of lost dreams and expectations. A brilliant young couple who took three children to Ukraine, learned the language well, were flourishing in teaching and music and relationships, cut off by sudden cancer. Kevin understands grief because he’s still in the middle of it.

Good grief is founded in hope. Kevin reads the words of Paul in 1 Thessalonians, “We do not want you to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope.” As Paul comforts the Thessalonians, Kevin comforted those gathered for Andrew’s family.

“Think of the Russian word for good-bye. It’s not final. Do svidanja– I will see you again.” That’s what we are saying to Andrew. Sixteen years is not long enough to live. His brother has captured his twinkle and spark in the pictures he lovingly matched to Andrew’s favorite music. He continues to live in our hearts, but we know he is also alive in God’s presence.

Then Kevin gives an illustration to pound home his point. He reminds Andrew’s father and brother of the day they moved Don’s old sofa. It was a disaster sofa, left in a flat on the fifth floor that Kevin and family were subletting from Don. But because furniture was dear, Don hesitated tossing it. Finally he says Kevin can get rid of it. Kevin calls Andrew’s father to help. The two men wrestle the huge monster down five flights of narrow cement stairs. Andrew’s brother comes behind picking up all the pieces that fall off on the way down. By now the assembled mourners are laughing with Kevin at his visual picture – many have climbed those dank cement stairs in cement apartment blocks of the former Soviet Union.

At the bottom of the stairs they are met by the “watch woman” – which, says Kevin, is Russian for “old Babushka who naps while people walk in and out of the building taking whatever they want.” She accosts them with a simple question. “You aren’t going to throw that away, are you?”

In a quick change of tone, Kevin says to all of us, “Don’t throw away this grief. It’s horrible, it’s ugly, it hurts, but don’t waste it.” As the old woman recycled the sofa to her own flat, we too can take the grief and turn it into something useful – character in ourselves and compassion for those who also mourn.

Good grief is the process that refines us. Lori hands me a Kleenex and passes one over to my husband. The whole row is dissolved in tears. We’re not going to throw away our grief.