wading through grief with eyes on the sunrise

It has been one month today since my dad, Darrell Vandergriff, was suddenly ushered into heaven. An excavator accident where everything that could go wrong, did, in rapid succession, still leaves me baffled. In the excitement of just returning home with his new machine, the unloading quickly began. But my dad had never unloaded this sized machine off this particular trailer that he spent months restoring. After unhooking the excavator and beginning to back it up to get it off the trailer, it seems that the front end of the trailer raised and so did the back end of his pick-up. This somehow started the truck rolling with the trailer and excavator in tow. It all immediately picked up speed, barreling down my parents’ very steep driveway, then off the bluff into the bay with my dad bucking around inside the excavator the whole time—trapped. The door that they had trouble opening when he got in, refused to open as he fought with it—I’m sure in sheer panic. The rescue took place as quickly as possible, but my dad’s injuries were too severe and once he lost consciousness while being transferred into the ambulance, he was already heaven-bound.

Shock is probably the best word to describe how my family and I have felt. And for me, to be honest, there is regret, and waves of sadness as missing him finally sets in. Sometimes, even often, I am fine, and then I’ll notice a large family picture on my shelf and see my dad’s smile and the sobs breakthrough, or I’ll see his old work shirt that I took home hanging on the hook and I’ll put it on. Or I’ll notice the bulletin from my Dad’s memorial service still on my table with the sympathy cards, and I’ll just hold it to my chest and cry. I think these chances to remember and miss my dad are gifts, ways God is giving me to recognize how much my dad meant to me even though I lived far away and didn’t get to see him very often.

Then there are the regrets. I regret taking my dad’s time on this earth for granted. I regret not calling him much more often. I regret that somehow the voicemails I had been saving of his voice somehow aren’t on my phone anymore. But, I don’t regret having that hiatal hernia surgery in December, which brought my mom and dad out to our home for a few days. God knew how much I would need those few days with my dad now. He was sweet to me in my recovery. He enjoyed being around our gentle Rough Collie and I was so glad our rescued Cowboy had come so far and was genuinely friendly with my dad. We got to celebrate my parents’ 60th wedding anniversary with them and I got to go with my dad to the local florist where he picked out the most stunning bouquet of flowers for my mom. He didn’t bat an eye at the price. He just wanted her to have the best and feel loved. We went out for Mexican food and had a good time together as a family. These were all precious gifts from my Heavenly Father and are treasured more and more each day now that the wait will be long before I can see my dad again.

Grief seems to be as individual as each person is. For me, it comes in waves, but I think for some of my precious family it is like wading in deep water. They are slogging through each day exhausted by the weight of the constant pressure of the loss of my dad’s companionship, his help, his example, his fearless “get her done” attitude. I pray for them that our heavenly Father, our God of “all comfort” will truly “lift them and carry them” as Isaiah 63:9 speaks of. I pray that Jesus will take them by the hand and lift them back up to walk on the water with Him, even as He did for Peter. I pray that God will decisively win the spiritual battle raging in the midst of this heavy grief and will “give to His people the knowledge of salvation…. because of the tender mercy of our God, with which the Sunrise from on high will visit us, to shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:77-79) I pray that the absolute truth of my dad’s experience of God’s healing glory and unspeakable joy will soothe their hearts and minds. I pray that even if they need to wade through this grief with Jesus for more days, that they will look up and see the Sunrise from on high lighting up the sky, lighting up their hearts with His love and reminders of how very proud my dad always was of them and how very much he cherished them.

For me, I’ve been fighting accepting that my dad is gone from this realm, gone from being within reach, within cell range, gone from me until Jesus returns or God calls me home, too. When I have let myself really miss him, all I could say was “I don’t want him to be gone!!!!” Or “I want him back!!!!” But of course, I have no control over either of these wishes, and so slowly, I am turning toward acceptance. I really hate acceptance. I am a fighter at heart. I have a very strong will and acceptance is not something that comes naturally to me, but it is necessary. And it is my first step in all of this toward surrender and letting God’s Presence be enough for me.

So today, I accept and reiterate in faith that God’s will is not mine, but that His will is good, acceptable and perfect. (Romans 12:2b) I choose to trust that His wisdom is beyond my comprehension. I accept that like Enoch my dad walked with God, and all of a sudden, he was not, for God took him. I accept that God’s ways are not my ways and that God weighs every detail with perfect insight. I not only accept this, I choose to see my God’s mercy. My aunt and my sister-in-law shared things that are helping comfort us. Amanda noted that she really couldn’t imagine my dad doing well with growing old, and I agree. My dad would have hated ever having to be bed-ridden or anything like that. He always had a project going. He was always productive. And my aunt remembered my dad saying that he’d work until the day he died. And God gave him that privilege. My dad was doing what he loved on the day that God called him home.

Back at the end of December I wrote about looking back and looking forward. I ended the post with this:

So, looking ahead, about to start a brand-new year, I see it as being at a trailhead about to start down a brand-new path. I have an idea of the vicinity the path will likely take, but until I take it step by step, I won’t get to experience the panoramic views, or the narrow twists and turns. I won’t get to use the muscles built on past hikes or feel new muscles getting strained, but here at the trailhead, there’s anticipation. There’s confidence that the One who has walked with me faithfully since I was five-years old, will hold my hand and stay by my side each step of the way this year, too. Confidence, that though I don’t know what the future will bring, as the saying goes, I do know the One who holds the future.

I invite you to rest in the unchanging truth of Deuteronomy 33:27, as you take the time to reflect, and as you anticipate.

“The eternal God is a dwelling place,
And underneath are the everlasting arms…”

Selah

As my brother and I keep saying to each other, we did not see this one coming. Losing my dad was definitely around one of those sharp bends, and totally off of our radar, but even still, I know that the One who has walked with us faithfully since we trusted in Jesus, is holding our hands and staying by our sides each step of the way. He is holding us as we face the future relying more heavily on Him than ever before. The promises that “we do not grieve as those who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13), and that we are being held by God’s everlasting arms, just like my dad is, comfort me. I cling to the fact that we are the beloved of the LORD and “we dwell in security by Him, who shields us all the day; we dwell between His shoulders” right next to His heart. (Deuteronomy 33:12)

It is my prayer and hope that you, too, will know the strength of the Father’s embrace through His Son Jesus Christ, no matter what you face on the path God has marked out for you. Remember that in Christ this promise is for us: “But you who fear My name the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings; and you will (one day) go forth and skip about like calves from the stall.” (Malachi 4:2)

This is the sunrise that I need to keep my eyes fixed upon. My dad is being embraced by the “Son of righteousness”, who is filled with healing in His wings. My dad has been released from the shoulder pain, back pain, knee pain, hand pain, etc. and is bursting forth, skipping about with joy like a calf released from being pent up in a stall. God still has work for us to do under the sun, and I want to make Him proud, and honor my dad, as I step out day by day to see what sights and heights God’s trail of grace still holds for me. I must remember that because of Jesus, I will get to spend eternity in my God’s presence, reunited with my dad and all my loved ones who are basking in the LORD’s splendor right this minute!

Thank you, Father, that I will get to see my dad again….Thank you, Jesus, that you are the Sunrise from on high, breaking through the darkness with your incredible light. I choose to look up and take in the hope of your beauty.