What I learned from my fireplace

The weather where we live is brutal right now. Between the cold temperatures, wicked wind, and gargantuan amounts of snow, I find myself using multiple measures to try to stay warm. I have been wearing layers upon layers of clothing, drinking gallons of coffee, living in Cuddle Dud socks, wrapping myself in soft blankies, and eating lots of soup. And, of course, this means it is fireplace season. Or it is supposed to be.

Our gas fireplace bit the dust this week. I did not realize what a tremendous difference it makes during the cold season in our home. We live in a split-level house and the fireplace resides in the room adjacent to the three-season room. The fireplace has a thermostat so we set it and forget it - it keeps that area of the house cozy and warm. Well, it did - up until last week. Now that area of the house is frigid cold, dark, uninviting, a place to be avoided. We've been looking in to getting it fixed and that might also be a bit of a challenge. It's 23 years old and replacement parts are not easy to find.

I really miss our fireplace. It would be more accurate to say I miss the effects of our fireplace. The fireplace is still there. It's quite beautiful in my opinion. The mantel is decorated for winter and it provides a lovely focal point for the room. But the whole atmosphere of our home is different without it working. I realize that the non-working fireplace and myself are very similar. I still exist. I walk around. I do things. But I often feel as if I am an empty shell. My inside feels cold, dark, barren, broken. My primary emotion is sadness. I feel somewhat useless. What value is a broken fireplace? What value is a broken human? I miss the functional fireplace. I miss the functional me. I know what the fireplace needs to work again - at minimum, a new pilot assembly...at most, a whole new insert. Oh, how I wish the same could be said of me. I think it would be great to pop out the broken part of me - the many broken parts of me - and plug in new, shiny, working parts that would make everything all better. 

There is one huge difference between myself and the fireplace - other than the obvious...the fireplace is an inanimate object and I am a living, breathing human being. The difference I am referring to is the pilot light. The fireplace needs the pilot light to spark and function. No matter what else we try, it is incapable of working without it. My pilot light is Jesus. He is still there, living within me, glowing dimly, buried beneath the dark and heavy grief that threatens to press the life out of me. The weight of the grief, the darkness of it, and its suffocating presence serves to try to snuff out the glow of Jesus in my heart. Unlike the fireplace, that glow will never go completely out. It's just not "sparking" right now. The grief is somehow causing a misfire. I think the fix is time. Time to learn to grow around the grief, to formulate a new path around the rubble from the many catastrophes over the last 50 years. It is true that the pain of loss is constant - it will not cease. It is also true that Jesus is constant - He will not cease. The loss of Brendan has changed me, no doubt. One of the hardest things is witnessing the pain it has brought into the lives of those I love. Knowing that Brendan's dad sits down in the room Brendan stayed in when he was home, holding one of the stuffed Disney Mickey's that Brendan loved, crying, remembering, missing him. All in an effort to keep that connection to his son alive, is heart breaking. Listening to his sister cry and share her own grief journey missing the brother she loved so much tears my heart out. Seeing the pain in the eyes of his other sister and hearing the pain in her voice as she talks about what will never be is awful. The mom in me wants to find a way to take away their pain. But 1 Corinthians 2: 3-4 tells me that God will be their comfort, He will get them through this, He will not waste their pain, and He will use even this for His greater glory. I don't know how, I only know He will. He is God. He does not and cannot lie. 

I have learned that it is believed the grieving process for those who have lost someone from suicide is twice as long as the grieving process for those who lose someone from an anticipated death. No doubt that any loss brings grief and that statement is not meant in any way to minimize anyone else's pain - it just shows me that the road ahead is very long. 

Dr. Alan Wolfelt shared this about the times of grief when we don't have the energy to focus on anyone but ourselves and we feel bad because of it. He says, "Especially early in our grief, we may find ourselves deaf to the needs of others. We may not want to listen to other people's problems. We may not have the energy to attend to our children or other family members (who may also be grieving). We often feel flabbergasted that the world is still turning while our lives are at a complete standstill. Are we being self-indulgent? Are we too wrapped up in ourselves? Has grief turned us into narcissistic egomaniacs? Actually, the temporary selfishness of grief is a form of self-respect. When all we can think about is how we are feeling, it's because we've been torn apart and need to work on putting ourselves back together before we can be of use to others. Our self-focus honors this reality." He calls it the cocooning phenomenon and says it is normal and necessary. 

Another thing I've noticed is that I am on high alert all the time now. The loss of Brendan has heightened my fears of another loss. A close family member had some scary labs recently and I realized how terrified I am of losing another loved one. Even on the days I think I am doing better, something pops up that makes me realize I am still very, very fragile. I will try to be intentional about this cocoon stage I am in. I will turn inward for rest and healing for now. I know there will be a proper time to again turn outward. Just not quite yet. It's not a sprint, it's a marathon. It is not healthy for me to allow others to set my pace for me. This is no one else's journey but my own. If you are grieving, you have the absolute right to set the boundaries you need to allow yourself time to heal and grow around your grief and adjust those boundaries as you need to do so. Let us not allow ourselves to be pressured by well-meaning people to rush our grieving process. Snuggle up in your cocoon for now, embrace the healing journey, and know that better days are coming.