What is it about grief that seems so at odds with the notion of recovery? Recovery suggests that  something which is lost or missing will be restored, that somehow we will get back what death has taken away. When one we love dies, the feeling that all is lost seems far removed from any idea of recovery.

   When we find ourself in the depths of grief, it seems almost impossible to think about going on with life, much less recovery. As we struggle with the hard reality of death, we realize that all of life has changed. Nothing will ever be the same again on this side of heaven—we will never see our child grow up, a father will not be at his son’s wedding, a beloved grandmother will never again bake her famous cherry pie.

   A few months after Leighton died I read an article by a woman who was also grieving the death of her husband. She described her experience of pain and went on to state that she found “recovery” at a spa. I paused a moment to reflect—could recovery really be found in something as simple as a massage? Likely her body felt better after some treatments and few days’ rest, yet the hard truth of grief is that our spirit and soul do not recover at a spa, at the mall, or in some distant place far from home.

   Though too often we are tempted to reach for convenient “remedies” within easy reach, recovery is not found in a bottle—cosmetics, pharmaceuticals, alcohol, whatever—or in a grocery store or on the table. These are all momentary “feel better” panaceas that do little or nothing to help us “be better”. When we have tried what does not work, slowly we realize that recovery is more about being better as we rediscover our own best self.

   Despite our resistance to the acceptance of loss, if we allow that somehow it might be possible to recover from the worst of our grief, the question is, “how does this happen?” First, we resolve to help ourself. No one can do the work of grief for us. We move toward recovery when we consciously and conscientiously seek to restore that part of our heart, our mind, our soul, and our spirit that we have invested in the experience of grief.

   Though there is no guarantee that our recovery will be full and complete, as long as we want to be better, there is every possibility that we will be restored fully to ourself. We know that we are recovering when we sense that we are less tearful. We know that we are recovering when we feel stronger and more enthusiastic about life. Recovery feels like the gradual, often imperceptible release of our anger, worry, fear, and sadness, and many of the other emotions of grief

   One of the most difficult obstacles to recovery is letting go of our ferocious grip on the past. When we grieve, our relationship with our loved one can begin to define us—who we are and how we live. If our daily existence is qualified only by the death of one we love, we allow the past to be the primary stakeholder in our future. Everything that we experienced in our life with the one we love and now grieve is part of our history. This will always be so. No one can take it away.The past is part of the permanent landscape of our life—the good, the not so good, and the beautiful.

   When we grieve, it is easy to give up on hope. For a while, it seems as though everything we ever hoped for died with our loved one. I hoped my husband and I would be married for 25 years. When he died, the joy of love seemed like a thing of the past. I felt that my life was at an end, that there was no reason to hope and nothing for which to hope. At the time, recovery was the farthest thing from my mind and heart.

   What we find when we grieve is that hope is incremental—hope builds on hope, hope thrives on hope. When at last we want to feel better and be better, we begin to recover from the experience of death and grief. When we do, we start small and learn again to hope. We discover that what we hope for now is somehow different than before. We dare to live again in expectation. 

   We glimpse what it means to recover when we listen for whispers of love from the one we love and now grieve. There is perhaps no more surprising or powerful moment in grief when at last we are at peace with ourself because we know with certainty that the love we shared is alive and present in our heart, “Love knows no limit to its endurance, no end to its trust, no fading of its hope; it can outlast anything” (1 Corinthians 13:7 JBP). We hear a familiar voice say, “I love you” and know that all is well. We are made better, recovered and whole again, through the steadfast love and faithfulness of the God of all grace.

Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
Isaiah 58:8-9 NIV