Grief is Not Linear. Now I Get It.

Grief Is Not Linear. Now I Get It.
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Right after we lost Hannah, many people told us, “Remember, grief is not linear.” What does that even mean?
All I knew was that my world had just fallen apart, and nothing would ever be the same again. We couldn’t see anything past our agony.


During Hannah’s visitation and memorial service, I was completely numb. I know that in those early days, Jesus was holding me because, looking back now, I have no idea how I survived it.


Bryan, Haley, and I stood beside Hannah’s casket and greeted the more than four hundred people who came to offer their condolences. It was astounding to see all who came to show their love and support. I couldn’t believe how many pastors and their wives had driven many miles to be there with us. It truly blessed our hearts.


Some of our former co-workers, high school classmates, church family, ladies I’ve ministered to in the jail, and people from various churches poured in and hugged and cried with us. A few of Bryan’s superiors flew in from different states to be there, as well as many of those he currently leads or works with.


Friends from Haley’s college came to be with her. Schoolmates, co-workers, and youth group friends all came in support. It was beautiful and comforting.


Add to that all the people who loved Hannah and had been impacted by her life. I soon realized that one of the most heartwarming gifts you can give a grieving family is your physical presence and the gift of sharing memories of how their loved one impacted your life.


Even though we were in complete shock, we remember every individual who came through that line. That also had to be God. I felt like I was in a clear plastic bubble floating above the whole scene—watching, seeing myself going through the motions, but not truly aware that the worst thing that could ever happen in my life had really happened.


Shock. Numbness. Derealization.


There are typically “five stages of grief”—often referred to as the Kübler-Ross model:

• Denial (shock, numbness)
• Anger (at God, at others, or even at the one who has left us)
• Bargaining (all the whys, what-ifs, what-should-haves, and what-could-haves)
• Depression (affects us not only mentally but physically)
• Acceptance (not being “okay” with it, but realizing it really happened; we’ll never get over it, but we have to learn to live in spite of it)

“Grief is not linear.” Now I get it.
It started with shock that immediately changed to bargaining before we even got off the plane. What if I hadn’t gone to Canada? What if she hadn’t been home alone? What if, what if?


Next, I found myself slipping in and out of, “God, why didn’t You do something? You could have prevented this!” There was anger at ourselves, anger at God, and anger over the circumstances as they unfolded. Those thoughts spiraled right back into the what-ifs.


Depression hit almost immediately. It has been woven through every moment of every day.


So yes, it all makes sense now. Grief is not linear. How nice it would be to move through each stage in a particular order and then be completely done with it. Unfortunately, we are never truly done with it.


The stages linger and circle like vultures—as if they are trying to decide what else it will take to destroy us. I can have decent days and then suddenly slip back into shock or denial. Sometimes I can almost convince myself that I’m okay. Yet I’ve found that if I have a good day, it’s often almost impossible to get out of bed the next.


Grief is extremely hard, and we all grieve in different ways. The stages are pretty much the same for all of us, but we do not experience them at the same times as others. There’s no finishing one stage, getting the certificate of completion, and moving on to another. It’s a constant, jumbled-up rotation.


Not experiencing the same stages at the same times has actually been a blessing for us as a family. I believe God has definitely managed that aspect for us. For instance, if I am having a really bad day, Bryan might be having a pretty good day and be strong enough to hold and comfort me—and vice versa.


(If you do not have a close companion, be sure to connect with a close, trustworthy friend or a counselor for support.)


Here’s a good thing to remember about grief: no one can tell you how to feel or when to feel it.


Many well-meaning individuals told me in the beginning, “You will grieve as deeply as you loved. If you loved her deeply, you will grieve over her loss deeply.”


In those first couple of weeks, I thought I would go insane. The shock, numbness, and complete dissociation put me in a state where I wasn’t crying nonstop. On the outside, it appeared that I was handling things much better than everyone else.


Then I started to worry. Did I not love her enough? Why am I not crying more than this? Why do I feel okay right now? Why do I not feel anything at all right now? If we grieve as deeply as we loved, what is this?


I was overwhelmed with guilt, thinking I didn’t love Hannah enough.
What was really happening was that God had kept me in a state of denial and shock for much longer in order to protect me. The initial shock, numbness, and feeling as though we are shut down is a way of emotionally surviving. The brain interprets profound loss as an existential threat to our own survival. So shock and numbness literally help us survive.


I loved—and still love—Hannah deeply and always will. I miss her so much that the pain often feels unbearable, and now that the shock has somewhat diminished, I’ve never been more certain of just how much I love her.


But because I was told—or perhaps because I expected—to grieve in a certain way, I thought I was a horrible mother. Honestly, I thought I was losing my mind.


When the numbness began to taper off, it was as if my heart was ripped wide open, displaying every ounce of love I had for her in the form of unrelenting weeping, even to the point of physical pain and total exhaustion.


So let me assure you: if you find yourself going through the tragic loss of a loved one, give yourself grace. Realize that we all grieve differently, and grief looks completely different for everyone. Grief is definitely not linear.


In speaking with one of my friends about the loss of her child, she told me:
“Grieving a child is like having an extra appendage. It doesn’t work and serves no purpose, but it’s still attached to you. You can’t put it down and leave it. It is part of you forever. So you learn how to carry it—for the rest of your life.”


Hannah consumes my thoughts. Everywhere I go, I find myself asking what Hannah would think of this or that. I imagine us laughing together over things we would have thought were goofy. Throughout the day, I want to text her. I long to go into her room at night and kiss her and tuck her into bed. 


So yes, I will carry her every day of my life. But I will hold on to all of those precious memories and cherish each of them until I see her again.
And I will fix my eyes, not on what is temporary, but on what waits eternally for our family in Heaven.


“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” — 2 Corinthians 4:16–18 NIV
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“Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest of mankind, who have no hope. For we believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in Him. According to the Lord’s word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord Himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words.” — 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18 NIV