The car ride home was silent. We had just landed from a flight I will never forget: we were mid-air when I was told that my Grandpa had gone to be with the Lord. After washing up and getting dressed, I immediately went to his wake.

Waiting for the elevator felt like forever. Some guests who came for the funeral service had come, and uttered their condolences as we waited together. I said my thanks, whilst keeping composure. We boarded the lift together. Again, silence.

As the elevator door opened, and I walked down the corridor to the room where my Grandpa’s body was laid, the air suddenly felt cooler, that it pierced through my skin and prickled my bones. My strength gave way, and I broke into a loud cry. My body was shaking; my knees, weak. My heart was in physical pain. A nearby work colleague who had come to pay respects quickly held me in her arms, as I tried to regulate my breathing. “God help me,” I thought. After having collected myself, with sobs still present, I walked into the room towards my Grandma. I hugged her tight.

---

revisiting grief

If you know me at all, you would know how close I am to my Grandparents. Growing up in the same home, I thank God that my parents took them in, just before I was born–as I count it my blessing to have had Grandparents so near and present all my life. Before Grandpa passed, I never knew it possible to be stricken by such grief. Did you know that upon extreme distress, your hands could go numb? I didn’t, until the day of Grandpa’s burial.

I remember my husband being worried at the intensity of my crying–at that time, I was three months pregnant. Perhaps it was the hormones that multiplied my melancholy. Irregardless, I remember fearing for my child, as I mumbled through hyperventilating, “I can’t stop… It’s so hard to breathe. It hurts too much. I can’t feel my hands…”

In those early days, I often quietly asked of the Lord, “why?” Why would You take him so soon? I was mid-flight on my way back home. Could You not have taken him a few hours later, Lord? Just a bit longer so I could at least say my goodbyes?

Grief is a peculiar thing. Though the saying is true, that time does heal–grieving a loved one is to never have enough time. Even months later, when my daughter was born, I found myself in sudden solemnity, at the thought, “my children won’t be able to meet their great grandpa.”

the robbery of death

And even now as I revisit the grief, tears stream down my cheek. I realize that it would never be a good time to lose a loved one to death. When death robs you of a loved one, the loss is instantaneous. One second, a heartbeat. The next, suddenly, none.

No wonder we will never be ready. No matter the cause of death: be it a sudden accident or a prolonged illness…death is a thief with no possible recompense.

I remember vividly the night we shut the coffin. I wanted another gaze. Just one more second, please, I thought. And the day of Grandpa’s burial was the hardest of all. When the workers lowered the coffin down to the ground…I wished they would slow down so we would have more time.

More time…because I was not ready to say my final goodbye.

the finality of death

That final goodbye…if you have ever lost a loved one to death you might be familiar with the feeling. It feels like this is the end, that death has final say.

We’ve heard the phrase, memento mori, or “man must die,” which reminds us of the inevitability of death. Regardless of who we are: our gender, race, age, socioeconomic status, even our belief system—we will all be faced with death.

No wonder death becomes such a scary thing. And facing it becomes a moment much dreaded.

I remember the day Grandpa found out about his diagnosis. The stoic man that he was, I had only ever saw him cry one other time in my lifetime: at my wedding. The second was when he found out he had stage 4 lung cancer. How it broke my heart to see him in such a state.

I can only imagine that the defeat we would feel at the face of death is so real. The finality of death makes it all so bleak. So what hope do we have? What keeps us holding on? Why do we even bother with life if eventually we all must die?

death’s fangless sting

Today as I write this, we are in the midst of celebrating the Holy Week of Passover. Today, a year precisely after Grandpa’s passing, particularly marks the day sandwiched between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

I guess we never really take a pause between those two days. As Christians we far too often hear of Jesus’ death and resurrection as one, that we tend to miss the weightiness of His death on the cross altogether. But perhaps the Saturday was an intentional pause.

For as I revisit grief on a Holy Saturday, I am reminded of how death is an enemy to us all. And the somberness that would accompany such a hopeless consequence should strike us all in the utmost despondent way.

“For the wages of sin is death,” writes Paul. And perhaps we should take a pause to ponder that consequence prior to continuing the sentence… “but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom 6:23). For if we know of how damned we all were, and how futile all our efforts are at self-preservation–then only shall we ever come to appreciate what Christ had done on the cross.

For the sting of death is no more. For the beast had been rendered toothless by our Risen Lord, who instead has final say.

“He is Risen,” is not merely a nice warm greeting once a year on Easter Sunday morning. It is the most powerful sentence we could proclaim. Heaven’s loudest roar of love. A quiet assurance to the grieving heart.

“He is Risen,” reminds us that death does not have final say. But Jesus does. And so it is fitting that His last words on the cross were, “it is finished,” (Jn. 19:30). For He had conquered all.

So what hope do we have at all? What keeps us holding on? Why do we even bother with life if eventually we all must die?

to live is Christ

Paul tells the Philippians a striking sentence when he writes, “to live is Christ; to die is gain.” (Phil. 1:21). To those who fear death (and it is only normal that we all do), to utter the words, “to die is gain,” is madness. How do we gain anything if we die?

To see with worldly eyes is to think such as nonsense. But to the Christian who knows that death is conquered, fear now dissipates.

Life, then, becomes worth living and fighting for. For no longer is it futile, but necessary, to walk with hope, with eager anticipation in this side of Eternity.

“To live is Christ,” becomes not merely a mandate, but an anchor. Especially in seasons when life feels bleak. That though this world may weave in troubles, our eyes are fixed ever Upwards. Heavenwards.

It is in this light, that I may courageously bring my sorrowful “why’s” to the Lord. That I may carry my heavy-ladened (Matt. 11:28), grieving heart, to the one who cares for me (1 Pet. 5:7).

met by God’s kindness

And today as I revisit these questions, I am comforted by God’s kindness. Looking back, no longing was unmet by goodness.

To my longing, “I wish we had more time,” the Lord gave me months of caring for my sick Grandpa by his bedside. Months that I would forever hold dear in my heart, as I witnessed my stoic Grandpa go through the most vulnerable moments of his life. A man who displayed greater strength in his fervor for life as he learnt to sit, eat, walk, all over again; a strength that I would never have seen in him in his health.

To my longing, “I wish I could say goodbye,” the Lord gave me numerous times of holding Grandpa’s hand in prayer, through scans and doctor’s visits. My favorite memory would be the day we bid farewell to the hospital, on the day he was discharged–where he looked up to the Heavens, with hands clasped in thanks, as we boarded the ambulance. I will never not tear up at the thought.

To my longing, “I wish my kids could have met Grandpa,” the Lord gave me stories to tell, when they are older. That God had covered his life–and theirs. As I remember the days of taking Grandpa to the radiology department and seeing the signage at the door: “pregnant women should not enter.” In those months, Jonathan and I had been trying for a child, to which the Lord had not granted. Though those months were difficult as I struggled with thoughts of infertility–looking back, I thank God for His timeliness. That He had not given me children at that time, so that I could be with Grandpa in his last days.

So though I still wish for the very same things: to have more time, to have said goodbye, to have my kids meet their Great Grandpa…I am comforted by these kindnesses that God had bestowed.

grieving with the Man of Sorrows

For accompanying me all throughout Grandpa’s wake and burial, was an old song that stilled my heart:

S'mua baik, s'mua baik
Apa yang Kau perbuat di dalam hidupku
S'mua baik, sungguh teramat baik
Kau jadikan hidupku berarti

An Indonesian worship song that echoes the hymn, “It Is Well”–one of my favorite hymns to date, with a tragic backstory that anchors the lyrics to a truer theology. That though trials and grief may overtake us, the Lord remains steadfast and He is good.

He is a God who is not afraid of our questions. He does not flinch at our “why’s”. He does not neglect the cries of those who come to Him with bare, broken hearts. Instead, in our grief, we find the presence of the Man of Sorrows to be all the nearer.

“He is despised and rejected of men, a Man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief,” (Is. 53:3). For the Man who conquered death first had hung on a cross. And the Man of Sorrows is His name.

recounting God’s grace

Today, as I revisit my grief, I am reminded yet again of the Lord’s sovereignty and His goodness. I am met again by His nearness and comfort. And so here is my brief attempt to retell it.

I chose not to simply share about what kind of man Grandpa was, not because he was not dear to me–let those memories be mine to keep. But that greater is the truth that his life had been one, that truly was covered by Grace.

Even the months that had led to my Grandpa’s passing had been filled with grace. Though from first diagnosis to his passing, were three mere months: all throughout, I knew of a Kind Hand orchestrating it all. This is worth sharing. This is worth heralding.

For though death brings forth grief and despondency…the madness of the cross brings us hope eternal. That we may then live with fervor and faith…that to live is Christ and to die is gain.

He is Risen!