When does grief end?

Two days after dad passed away, Logan asked me, "When are you going to get over missing Grandpa?"

"I don't know.  I will probably always miss him."

"I know," he said, "but I was just wondering because my birthday is next month and my friends might say, 'What's wrong with your dad?'"

Its been four months now, so I ask myself, "When does grief end?"  The question both puzzles me and angers me at the same time.  Does it end?  What makes it end? Should it even end? It's like trying to measure love by using the yardstick of time.  Illogical at best, offensive at worst.

The journey of grief is like walking on a long winding road in the fog at night. Where are you going? How far have you come? When will you get there?  What is "there" anyway?  Sometimes it feels like you are going in the wrong direction?  Sometimes all you can do is plod aimlessly.

If only the journey would make sense!

And my situation is pretty straight forward and normal.  If any grief journey made sense, mine should. Most middle-aged folks lose their parents at some point.  The life cycle goes on.  I can't even imagine the complexity and depth of fog that others face -- like the family member of someone on the missing Malaysian airlines flight.  What about the family member of someone on death row? I can't even imagine the agony and pain of protracted grief.

So how can we make sense of it all.  Once when Jesus was asked about tragedy, he said it wasn't because of sin, but to bring glory to God (John 9:3).   At times, I thought this explanation to be devious.  God brings tragedy, so people can say how good a guy He is?!?! That sounds more like a "Cosmic Sadist," to borrow C.S. Lewis' term, than any kind of real explanation.

But I have been thinking about it in a different way lately.  If God is full of selfless love, love shown to Him only results in more love to the world.  We cannot out give God.  If that is true, Jesus statement really says. "This pain has a purpose, a good purpose."  It benefits the greater good.  It is not lost on the world.  It does something.  It matters. This is "meaning" and according to Victor Frankl, this is the key ingredient that enables folks to survive suffering.  If our pain has a point, it doesn't seem as painful.

To think that out of my experience something beautiful and significant could be made that would benefit God and people. That makes the fog lift a little.

Yesterday, I went on a bike ride.  The open road is the best place for me to think.  It is not so different from when I would take my little red bike with the banana seat across the street, past "the pond" and up "the mountain."  As the song says, "Life is a highway."

So I have this idea.  I want to do a 100 mile bike race for dad. I could raise money for ministries that matter.  It would give me an excuse to talk about dad.  I could be like Don Showalter when he wrote on the back of his biking shirt, "For Marilyn."  Something about that just seemed right.  I might even lose a little weight as a I train for it.  I could use the endorphins, too.  I am really getting excited about this.  Even though I am limping in pain today from having done 39 miles yesterday, I can't wait to do 100.  I am thinking I could easily do it before dusk. 

So when does grief end?

It doesn't.

But I am pretty sure the journey goes faster if you ride your bike.