Reflections on Sacred Grief
“I think grief is a gift,” said my friend, agonising over the unexpected death of her brother. “Without the initial numbing sensation how would we cope with the anguish?”
I don’t often hear people describe the intensely painful act of grieving in this way. But I wholeheartedly agree with my friend.
Grief, though agonising, is a sacred gift.
And it’s a gift that will be given to each of us at some point in our lives because loss is inevitable, whether it’s death, divorce, betrayal, or any unwanted change. Or perhaps loss is when we begin to see all that the past withheld, and that discontent seeps into our present.
Even though we will experience grief uniquely, it is part of our shared humanity, with the capacity to deepen our compassion for each other.
Grief is not a problem to be solved, but a pilgrimage to walk; sometimes the way will be dark and sometimes we will stumble. Yet we are called to rise again.
Our grief journeys are individual, but there are also commonalities; threads that allow us to help another feel seen and heard. The path isn’t linear, but undulating and winding, often looping back on itself. Early on, there were days when I wondered if I would experience joy again, and then it would suddenly shine through.
It takes courage to go on this pilgrimage. There is a danger that we may isolate ourselves, but because grief is a normal human response we need not feel alone.
Initially, acute loss is visceral. I was totally unprepared for the physical sensation of grief: the deep ache in my heart, my shallow breathing, the heightened awareness of both my internal and external landscapes. Strangely, it is the only time in my life that I can honestly say I truly lived in the moment. I now realise that this was the shock of Russell’s sudden death, and my coping mechanism for the fact that I had lost not just him, but also the vision for my life’s future. I could only deal with the present moment.
I suspect my ignorance of grief’s nature stems from our culture’s avoidance of death and mourning. It’s astounding that something so significant has been relegated to becoming a topic shared on a ‘need-to-know’ basis. It’s true that we will not know how exactly we will respond until it happens to us, but having some idea of its intensity would be helpful, I believe.
This is one of the reasons I talk about grief; so that it can be rightfully normalised. Because even though we don’t go hunting for grief, it is something we will experience.
This doesn’t mean that we go through life glancing over our shoulder anxiously waiting for grief to strike. As with so much of what we dread, this fear of loss and grief will cause us unnecessary suffering.
Recognising grief as part of being human allows acceptance rather than unending struggle.
It opens the door for us to honour our losses.
Personal growth lies in courageously seeking the grace nestled within the mantle of grief. Going on this pilgrimage illustrates to me that I’m worthy of this walk and that it will not be in vain. It deepens my connection with God and with humanity.
It is the knowledge of this grace secreted within the pain that eliminates the fear of loss and grief. Yes, we will all suffer the agony of grief at some point, but that means we can also access the grace.
And in so doing we unveil hope. Hope for a future that will be different to how we imagined, but equally meaningful.
Accessing this grace helps us to let go of the imagined life we held dear so that we become open to our new beginning, a life that perhaps we haven’t yet envisaged.
In his beautiful book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow, Francis Weller writes:
Loss and grief are an initiation into a changed landscape, reminding us that everything is passing
He discusses how we all face many ‘little deaths’ in our lifetime due to unwanted change such as the end of a friendship, a closure of a business venture or the inevitable changes associated with an ageing body. How we respond to these is paramount to our quality of life. He continues:
… there arises a feeling of gratitude, of grace, that we have been gifted with this time, these particular people, and this astonishing planet.
Gratefulness has played a major role in my healing. I grew tired of constant melancholy. I noticed how different I felt when I was able to stand in awe looking out at the ocean or when I felt a deep sense of thankfulness from being the recipient of a kindness given to me.
To be able to grieve and yet feel grateful is part of the sacred mystery.
The common denominator is grace.
Grace rests like a precious pearl inside us, waiting to emerge. In my journey through grief recovery, the pearl‑harvesting image became resonant. An oyster secretes a protective, soothing substance to ease the discomfort and guard itself against an irritant that has managed to infiltrate its shell. As it heals, the mollusc gradually creates a precious, uniquely shaped pearl.
Similarly, as we heal grief within ourselves, grace softens the edges of our pain and helps us perceive the gift concealed within. This awareness loosens the burden of grief’s weight, shifting how we carry it forward.
But please don’t for a moment think that I’m romanticising the nature of grieving. It can be devastating, excruciating, agonising and gut-wrenching. What I mean is that by sitting with grief compassionately, we can become realigned.
Grace, like a pearl, quietly waits to reveal itself once we peel open the protective shell we have created.
It is then that true transformation occurs as we rise, empowered by our experience to live in a new way.
1 Weller, F. The wild edge of sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief,124
2 ibid,129