Reconciling ourselves to the death of one we love is one of the steepest and longest hills we climb on our journey through grief. Reconciliation is a continuous process of adjustment and acceptance, with a few stops and setbacks along the way.

The Dallas Arboretum is an urban oasis of both natural and man-made beauty on the banks of a lake not far from downtown. This beautiful place has been a refuge for me, especially since the death of my beloved husband. Before Leighton died we enjoyed going there together; after he died it became my grieving place. I can sit there “beside still waters” in every season of the year to think, journal, and remember. On a crisp December afternoon one year three days before Christmas, I went to the Arboretum to reflect on the season in a peaceful moment of “all is calm, all is bright.” When I left “my” bench I was refreshed by the exquisite beauty of the clear, cool day and the feeling of being far removed from the noise of the city and the season.

In the first chapter of Luke we read, “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” We need God’s light and guidance on our journey of grief as we make our way through the vast forest of our spiritual and emotional pain. At Christmas, our thoughts and feelings are especially attuned to both the absence and the presence of the one we love and grieve.

When life as we know it has been brought to a standstill by the death of one we love, the future we once imagined, perhaps even relied upon as a certainty, is no more. Our hopes, our dreams, our inmost desire for fulness of life beyond the horizon of today are unalterably shaken. And though remnants of our ideal longings may survive the finality of death, the fragile ruins of the future we once envisioned become a commentary on our past.

On a rainy Tuesday afternoon in December, I attended the funeral of a woman whose husband I knew and wanted to support. He was an adoring, loving spouse, in every way a faithful servant who cared for his wife throughout her long decline from Alzheimer’s disease. The service was a fitting tribute to a joyful life well-lived in love and service to her family, her church, and others.

…not just any old work shoes, but hot pink sneakers with shiny silver stripes that peeked out from the bottom of her sensible khaki pants. This particular angel had bright yellow curly hair, the perfect complement to her sunny disposition. Her job was to arrange and maintain the Christmas floral arrangements in the large gothic dining room of an historic estate house open to the public. She was the “flower lady”, responsible for artfully brightening this moody space with its soaring cathedral ceilings through the vibrant beauty of fresh seasonal flowers.

Beyond its accustomed use to designate a federation of states, a commonwealth is also defined as any group of persons united by some common interest. In the face of senseless violence, tragic death, and random injury, as occurred in recent weeks and days especially in London and Manchester, those of us who are helpless bystanders are most certainly part of a commonwealth.

Recovery best describes our spiritual and emotional healing from grief. Here are some things that to help in how to recover from the death of a loved one.

The journey of grief takes us inevitably through “the valley of the shadow of death” (Psalm 23:4 RSV). We emerge at last from the darkness of grief into the light of new life, our soul restored through the loving care of God’s infinite grace.

When the careful restoration of our life is at last complete, our grief becomes a precious part of the infrastructure of who we are.

As our grief slowly moves beyond the pain of loss and loneliness, often we ask ourselves, “Will I ever be happy again?”

When we grieve, somewhere deep within we long to soar again.