My Valley Is My Door

In the last few months I have been apart of a few different grief journeys. I have had friends who’s loved ones were given a diagnosis, followed by a number of years or months they had left with them. I had that friend myself, and I lost her. I have had friends who were notified their loved ones were in the hospital as a result of an accident, and they weren’t sure if they would make it. Then of course, I have experienced being notified that my husband had been in an accident, and that he was gone.

At the end of the day, loss is unfathomable. No amount of time is enough to prepare for losing someone you love. I don’t want to say my grief process has been easier, but it has been shorter. Many people think that if you are told you have a number of months left with someone, it allows you to be able to come to terms with it. They think it allows you to adjust to the reality of your new reality. But I believe receiving that kind of news would be one of the hardest. It starts the grief process sooner, and it can make that road so much longer. It is living every day knowing there is an impending anguish, but not knowing when that day will come. It can provide a type of hope that is never guaranteed, and can make you lose touch with all you know.

When I talk about that hope, I am talking about earthly hope. The hope of having our loved one heal and continue to walk physically beside us. The hope of continuing to make memories, of seeing them face to face, of holding them - the hope of making a life.

I know one thing I struggle with now is fear. I fear losing anyone else I love, I fear things being taken from me, I fear that I will never be fully happy again. Yet through this fear I have come to realize the only thing stronger than that is hope. I hated the idea of hope immediately following Caleb’s accident. I was hopeless, yet somehow I found myself feeling comforted. I have tried to figure out where that feeling came from. At first I thought I was still in denial. I thought I was holding on to the hope that Caleb would come home one day, or call me and say “hey I’m okay”. And this thought is as true as it is wrong. I feel my sense of comfort because I do know he is okay; I do know that he is with me and watching over me. I know he is in the best place he could possibly be, and I know that because I am so incredibly envious. I have grasped back on to hope, tighter than I ever have, because I know I will see him again. I know God is holding him so close; Caleb is sitting at the foot of the thrown, waiting for us to be reunited.

No, there is no amount of time that will allow us to prepare for losing somebody we love. The thing is, we don’t necessarily need that time, because this is all temporary. Heaven is forever, and we have hope to see them again.

Hosea 2:15

God is the only one who can make the valley of trouble a door of hope.

My valley is my door.