Back in Farnworth I distinctly remember being told about a young man. He was a body builder, a family man, in employment as far as I recall. The details do get blurry.
The person who was sharing her concerns was clear that he was so depressed that she was worried he would never recover. The reason seemed, at first instance, ridiculous. He had broken his leg. Though it had, or was, mending, he could not live with the fact that it had broken, that it was no longer perfect.
I don’t think he was mentally ill. I don’t think he was deluded. I think he was genuinely stuck.
The reason? The process? Grief.
He was mourning the loss of perfection, and at that time he seemed unable to live with himself in those circumstances.
I hope he got out of it. He wasn’t someone I met, or someone I got to hear the end of the story of. There were certainly people around him who loved him, and in time I would hope that persistent love would have been recognised, received, and had its effect. Grief can remove you from feeling that love.
Jesus wept. He was going to raise Lazarus back to life. But he shared in the grief nontheless. Jesus wept.
In general, grief is a sign of the loss of a precious precious love. And it hurts. And hurts. But the process does move on, and it acknowledges something that was so good, and starts to incorporate it into a new life.
Grief needs Understanding and the practice of Good by those around it. And Patience.
That’s all Good for Grief.