so much death

Death.  So much death.  What do I mean by that?

Well, when we first lost Grant, it was all I could think about for a very long time.  Every thought I had in fact, revolved around that one predominate reality, the new reality.  But as time went on, and my mind, body and soul started to accept the fact that he was gone, it made room for other thoughts. I was able to try and start “normal life” again.  In fact, that’s what the entire last year has been.  Me trying to figure out what life looks like now.

But what I am discovering is death.  Death is everywhere.  When Grant died, he didn’t die alone.  The Alisa I once was, died with him.  The man I married and had known for 30 years is gone. The way our family interacted, changed forever. The way life was, died with Grant. Every night at dinner, death is there in the empty chair.  Every holiday death does not fail to appear as we celebrate around the gap. Every relationship we had, is forever changed. Yes, the way life used to be, died an that fateful day with our precious son.

That may sound morbid. It might make you wonder if I need help, if I am stuck in the grief process. I don’t think I am.  I truly believe, that when someone dies, so much dies with them; they do not die alone.  And the more time goes by, the more you discover that has died with your loved one. But you see, as painful as this is (and it truly is more painful than I even know how to adequately express because I am bound by language) this doesn’t have to be a morbid thing.

Every time I discover another death, as a result of Grant’s death, it makes me long for Heaven more.  It makes me love Jesus more for conquering death in the end. It stirs love for the things that are still here with more fervor and passion than I knew was possible. And it makes me grateful for every small moment, and relish things that were unseen before death took its tole.

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3 Responses to so much death

  1. kariedenny says:

    Alisa, I can’t imagine. Honestly, it hurts to try. I guess that’s why so many people find it hard to be empathetic, because it hurts to understand another’s grief. I hurt for you and it can’t even be a sliver of what you feel everyday. I hurt when I see you and hug you, knowing you’re grieving. You are an amazing woman, mother and wife. I am so blessed to know you. The next time we hug, will be a little longer. xo

  2. Camille says:

    Your words are beautiful. May the Lord continue to help you and your family to grieve with hope. He is Faithful and Good. Heaven is our Home…what a thought!! Hugs, Camille

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