We’ve had a bit of a hiatus from Stepwise over the last couple of weeks due to Covid. Hopefully we’ll be resuming the next session – planning our group project – next week. Part of me is relieved to take a step back from it right now and not have the group project to focus on. It’s giving me a much-needed space for grief as Holy Week this year sees me walk my own personal journey to the cross, reliving the last days of my daughter’s life and the anniversary of her death.
That last week took us from the highs of a visit from family and a day out at the start of the week, through to an emergency rush to hospital, the relief of things stabilising and being in the right place to get the treatment my daughter needed, the joy and relief of being able to come home again and then the devastation of my daughter’s sudden collapse and unexpected death.
The memories of that last week are intensely painful but they are the last precious memories I have of my beautiful girl. As I walk through this journey, I am bombarded by questions: could I have done more? should I have done more? could I have saved her? and of course the ultimate cry of agony – why, God, why?
They are questions that I don’t have answers to, that I’ll never know the answers to – not in this life anyway. And while I did have a sense during her life that she was only given to us for a time and that we were never promised a long life with her, I am not sure I will ever completely cease to rebel over God taking her back. I am incredibly grateful for the time we had with her but I will always wish it could have been so much more.
She died just after Easter and the memories of that last Holy Week with her are also echoed in the events of this Holy Week. This year, for the first time since her death, our local walk of witness will take the same route as it did then. My memories of that last walk of witness are particularly sharp due to my concerns that day and so this year will feel particularly painful to walk. As with every Easter since my daughter died, it will be Mary who I will feel most drawn to in the narrative – Mary standing there in helpless agony watching her son die. It is her pain that echoes most strongly with me as I remember my own agony of seeing my beloved child die and not being able to prevent it.
Good Friday brings pain, but we know that it is not the end of the story. We know that the joy and hope of the resurrection is still to come. And while my heart breaks this week, I too hold on to the hope of the resurrection to come, holding on to my faith that one day I will be reunited with my beautiful daughter. It’s a hope that some of my Christian friends are quick – too quick at times – to remind me of. In their hope of resurrection, there is no space for grief, only joy. But having faith that we will reunited does not take away the pain of having to live without my daughter in the here and now.
Holy Week does not gloss over the agony of Good Friday on the way to the joy of Easter morning. The agony and grief are given their place as my own personal grief also needs to be given its time and space. There is “a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:4) and this week is my time to mourn.
During Stepwise we have been encouraged to keep reflecting on where we have seen God each week. During this week, I see God in the love and support from my friends and family and in the little moments that remind me that the love between myself and my daughter never dies and in the knowledge that I am not alone, that God holds me and my family in the palm of his hand and comforts us in our sorrow. We will continue to hold on to our faith that one day we will be reunited while continuing to allow the space we need to acknowledge our grief on our journey towards that day.
A Kintsugi Faith 