A Valley Shadowed by Death

-Loss, Grief, Love

Introduction

Imagine a rain-soaked night in an unknown territory, burdened with a heavy load you can’t drop. This load is essential for you to survive but so also is it heavy, encumbering your steps. Added to the load, the incessant rain, beating heavily, soaks you wet and makes looking up impossible. It is very cold out here and the wind chill is freezing. You have put on your best jackets against the cold, but they won’t do. Using the flicker of your lantern, you have searched for a resting place but you couldn’t find. No inns, no motels, no villages along the way. The road seems bleary. On such a difficult road you find yourself after suffering loss and you are plunged into grief. Grieving is thus like walking in a dark valley where the light would rarely go beyond your next step and where you experience your worst nightmares.

King David in Psalms 23 talked about a valley: the valley of the shadow of death. Grief is the prototypical valley shadowed by death, a profound mental, psychological, visceral and physical reaction to the loss of a loved one who could not escape the cold grasping hands of death. Unlike the survivors, they went, not just through, but beyond the shadows into the hands of death.

In the immediate aftermath of my wife’s death, I lost myself. For a long time, I wondered who I was. What do I want in life? What do I like? What are my dreams? Where do I go from here? There, all your dreams and plans and hopes and aspirations are levelled to the ground; flat, dead, crushed. When the Bible says ‘and the two shall become one flesh” (Gen 2:24, NKJV), it is the absolute truth. After the initial trying years and fights, my wife and I had become not just one flesh, but one soul, united in this gig called life. When she died, I lost my better half, a big chunk of my soul. My life and my heart were rent in two, torn violently and suddenly asunder.

Grief is a valley

I was initially numb, in shock and unfeeling. I carried on like an automaton, driving, smiling and even flying 15 thousand kilometres to write an exam. I woke up one morning and wrote down all I wanted to do as if nothing had happened. I remember going to a party where I danced with a girl. I went to a book club, the only guy among six ladies. I was living like all was normal. Then, suddenly I was sucked in, pulled by a strong magnet into a dark hole. When grief hits you, you enter into a huge valley, like a tunnel or a dark cave. You descend into it. For some, it might be sudden but for others, it is gradual. Some are aware of the descent but some are not aware, finding themselves in the pit. You might literally feel yourself descending into the bowel of the earth like into the shaft of a mine or it might forcefully suck you into its bowel like a powerful gale, leaving you totally helpless.

Entering in, you discover a deep canyon, far from the surface. You can’t escape it. You can’t scale it. The visage is looming, framed by gigantic rocks and cliffs. Coming alongside you is this great sense of sorrow, of mourning, of loss. It is a hopeless place. All energy is sucked out of you. And what is worse, gravity is concentrated there. You feel heavy. Taking a step is like trying to escape a bog, full of sinkable mires and laden with carnivorous plants and traps. Your feet are tethered to the floor by sticky gums and you lift each one with great difficulty, slowly and deliberately, with so much effort. You are strung with multiple ropes attached to anchors in the bog. You look up and you can’t see any help – not even a light.

Grief then is a frightened and lost soul crying out desperately to God, loudly, frantically, genuinely and yet – deafening silence. No response. It is like that dream where you are faced with a horror, an enemy about to pierce you and you try to shout or lift your hand but no sound came and you could not lift a finger. Grief is shouting, like Jesus, “Eli Eli lama sabachthani?” (Math 27:46).

Grief is full of shadows and monsters

Before you settled down, with the first view of the morning comes terrifying shadows: gnomes, demons, beasts, unknown creatures. Grief is a fearful, dark, and foreboding place. You can’t see well, you can’t see far, you can’t guess how long it is going to take neither can you see beyond your step. It is full of threatening shadows –left, right, centre and to your back. You are overcast with fearful shadows – sorrow, fears and doubts. The shadows move menacingly, crowding around you as if to suffocate the life out of you. You can hear their howls, their ravenous cries, seeking blood. They come so close that you can feel their cold breaths and smell the horrifying odours of their mouth. Hungry, raging ravenous beasts, inhabiting the lonely valley of death. They crowd and move along with you, like a pack of wolves surrounding their prey. You wondered which of them is going to attack first?  Who among them is going to make the first move?

In grief, you encounter scary little things, scary big things. What happens to my kids if I fall ill or die? Would the same fate befall me? Some people are lost completely in this vast expanse of space, caught in the mire or the sinking bog, never emerging from the labyrinthine enclave, consumed by worries, fear, diseases and accidents. The valley is filled with Borgs, otherworldly juggernauts against which resistance is futile.

You dare not run, as that would unleash their predator instinct. Many have tried it and regretted it. The shadowed valley require you to walk its vast expanse to build your endurance, your resilience and your muscles. For in so doing can you lead others on the way.

Grief is a lonely road

In the dungeon of grief, no one is near. It is a very lonely place. You feel absolutely alone, either in a crowd or in your room. This feeling is worse when you look forward or you have a decision to make. No one to discuss with; no voice to urge you on, to encourage you. No voice to warn you. No one to fight with, to argue with. No one to annoy you with those little habits. No one to hold you close in your fears, in your period of self-doubts. No one to bounce off ideas. You yearn for a deep prolonged hug, a hug that says “I am with you, no matter what”. The people who love cannot help much, because they care so much. The people you love run away, because your weight is too much. Who wants those weights anyway? Who wants someone else’s baggage?

Grief is crying your heart out and not heard by anybody. Grief is when you hear those platitudes that rub in your pain: I understand; I know how you feel; I lost my cat too last year; she is no more suffering; she is better off; everyone dies sooner or later; all things work together for good. And when you fall, there is no one to lean to, to lean on. No one to lift you up or pull you up. You gather yourself, take a look over your shoulder, dust your dirty butts and keep on the journey. Grief is when friends become uncomfortable. When words become a clumsy, knocked engine.

Grief is a wide wintry, valley

Like air, grief wraps itself around everything. Like winter wind, it is so chill. The air is filled with flurry and sheets of snow; the ground is covered in slippery ice. The snow boot is extra-heavy, and the soggy soles and slipperiness makes walking extremely perilous. Yet, the cold bites hard into the toes. Through the shock and the numbness and the fog, you experience an unusual coldness that feels not, sees not, hopes not. You become a living, eating, walking, smiling, but frozen soul.

But Grief is the valley of the shadow cast by a light that shines forever

When you grieve, you grieve because you loved. You grieve because you were loved. Your grief is a measure of your love, a measure of how much you have been loved and how much you have been touched. Grief is a shadow, true, but remember, a shadow is a function of a light. Without light, there can be no shadows. A shadow means a light source is nearby, though you might not see or feel it. It is like being in a tunnel or witnessing a cloudy day. When we are under a sky overcast by thick dark clouds, we know the sun is right there, above the clouds.  Its light and warmth occluded by the clouds. Also, when we are in a tunnel, we know the sun is right above us though we cannot see it. Likewise, the valley of the shadow of death points us to the fact that the sun with its light and warmth is still above, with its radiance and its heat, though we may not see or feel it.

Even in that shadowy place, there are occasional breakthrough lights, when the cloud lifts. It comes suddenly, unexpectedly. The cloud cover would break, revealing warm beautiful sunlight, but as quickly, it darkens again, obstructing the sun, like a lightning flash. Grief is therefore a testament to a beautiful heart that can love and love beyond a life. It is a reflection of a love that never dies, an everlasting love. When it lifts, it leaves in its wake a light that shines forever. A testament to its eternity.

So, remember, you shall come to light, if you persevere. It is just beyond the shadows. It is just above the tunnel. It is just on the surface. Trudge on until you climb out of the tunnel or you escape the valley and find your sunshine. You shall experience the Sun again and those worn, ragged clothes of sorrow and pains shall be changed. You will receive beauty for your ashes.

Conclusion

Like being in a train that passes through a mountain tunnel, same way you entered, same way you will get out, if you keep moving. Gradually, if you do not give up, the breaks become longer and more frequent. The warmth lasts a bit longer than the cold spells. As author Julie Yarbrough said, ‘the slow steady pace of rhythmic walk will ultimately see us through to the other side”. Keep moving.

Though grief is the price we pay for truly loving and giving our hearts to another it is also a journey through the valley of the shadow of death. You will come into a beautiful light if you know that God’s destination for you at the end is a joyful place – a place of green pasture beside the still waters. There you will have peace for your soul.