Dying parents. 8 things I wish I knew.

Ten Years ago, Dad died.

I was 28 years old. old enough tO think I was prepared, but it turned my life upside down.

We are entering the stage of life when many of our friends are going through the process of losing their parents. Here are eight things I wish I had known going into dad’s diagnosis and the days following his funeral.

1. Time goes faster than you think.

We are used to thinking time is a luxury with plenty to spare. I’m not talking about the day-to-day business. Tasks are endless, and we can never get them all done. However, we typically do overestimate how much more time we have with your parents.

Think about the last year. How many visits did you get in? Write that number down, or punch it into your phone. Multiply that by how many years you think they will live. That number will give you a rough idea of how many more times you will see your mom or dad.

In most cases, we overestimate the amount of time we have left. The part that took me off guard is the amount of time left when he was feeling healthy and vibrant. My brother and I were lucky enough to take one more trip to Red River, our childhood vacation spot, for one more trip up to Goose Lake, a 9-mile rocky and narrow switchback to one of the most beautiful places in New Mexico.

It was in October, and the road was closed for the season. But we tried anyway. Dad drove, and my brother and I bounced up and down on the back bumper to get as far as we could. Close enough to walk an extra mile for him to see the beautiful lake and jagged rocks one more time. We laughed all the way to the top, knowing we weren’t supposed to be there. This trip will always be a prized memory. His lungs couldn’t handle the altitude shortly after.

Take the trip while you can, whether that’s a trip to the mountains or simply an extra visit. You won’t regret it.

2. Be Kind to yourself.

You will see missed opportunities in hindsight. The best thing you can do is tip your hat to them and let them pass through. The worst thing you can do is internalize and dwell on them. Of course, you could have done things differently, gotten along better, spent more quality time with them. It takes humility to admit you aren’t perfect. Humility is always the best path. When regrets come, accept them and learn from them, but don’t resist them. Resistance will lead to naval gaizing. Be okay with some wins and losses. But if you ruminate, do so on the experiences that mean the most.

Your parents did the best they could with what they had to work with, and so did you. Forgive yourself and forgive them. Grief is full of wins and losses; give yourself permission to carry both.

The Christian practice of meditation teaches us to take our failures to him who has none. Focus on his deeds of forgiveness so that we can then be properly motivated to forgive ourselves and others. If our forgiveness of ourselves holds more weight than God's, then we are not trusting in Him who died on our behalf. Let go of what you think of you, and let God speak the truth of who you are, a son or daughter of the living God.

I, even I, am he who blots out
    your transgressions, for my own sake,
    and remembers your sins no more.

Isaiah 43:25

3. Ask a lot of questions.

Ask the hard questions. You experienced moments of disappointment and pain from a fight that occurred years ago. It’s easy to think we don’t want to put that on your mom or dad’s shoulders at the time they are facing their own death. Don’t just do it for you, do it for them. Give them the chance to ask for forgiveness and for you to offer it. Allow them to pass in peace, knowing you have reconciled unresolved hurt. Ask them what their perspective was during that hurtful situation. I wish I could say it will work without a doubt. Truthfully, it might not. They may not reciprocate. But you will not be left with the lingering thought of “what if”… what if I had tried one more time to make things right.

Ask questions that lead to a stories. Many times, I’ll think of something that only Dad would know. I wish I had asked him. What was it like for him growing up? What were his parents like during his middle school and high school years? What were some of his most proud moments? What were his biggest fears and failures? Did he have any regrets? What parting advice would he give me? These are all questions that require vulnerability. I think that’s why we won’t naturally ask them. It’s uncomfortable being vulnerable, but it’s also uncomfortable wishing you had asked a few more questions. You get to choose your discomfort.

4. Give people grace who reach out.

It’s important to give people the benefit of the doubt. The phrase “there are no words” during grief is not just a cliché. It’s a truth claim. People will reach out and say all kinds of things… some of it is helpful, but a lot of it is not. Some people will reach out who haven’t spoken to you in years, and you will think Why now. Some people won’t reach out with the condolences you thought they would. It’s best to interpret motives with the best intentions, whether they reach out to offer words of encouragement, a Bible verse, or something odd and perhaps a little crazy.

They are trying to show you they care and you matter to them. For those who don’t reach out, the same principle applies. The are trying to give you space to grieve and heal. Interpret their motives with the best intentions. They don’t want to add one more thing for you to think about and process. View their temporary absence as a gift rather than a careless withdrawal. Besides that, they have no idea what to say, even if they wanted to reach out. Give them grace.

5. Tell stories to others.

I was at work… the sadness was at its deepest… my emotions all over the place. Feeling deep grief does make you feel alone and like few, if anyone, understands what you have experienced, even if it’s not true.

At work one day, a co-worker expressed condolences. Then he asked a four word questions I’ll never forget: “What was he like?”

Hearing that question gave me the freedom to talk about Dad positively. The months and years after his death, the primary way I spoke about him was about his death. This question opened the door for me to remember him and the joy he brought. I shared a couple of short stories. It was a brief interaction, but I will never forget the way his question made me feel.

You don’t have to wait for someone to ask you about the person you lost. You have permission to tell their story. People generally want to hear about people you love, but they don’t know how to ask.

You can remember this powerful question for the next time you encounter someone in grief. Have the courage to ask about the ones they love. They will never forget it.

6. Deep Grief feels like fear.

Grief is experienced differently by everyone, but there may be similarities, too. There are a few things about grief I wish I had known going in.

The first is that grief feels a lot like fear. The reason is this. We all have experienced pain at some level. So naturally, we think we have seen the bottom floor. But when deep grief comes in. Not only does the floor give out to more levels, but we also know that we have no idea how much grief we are capable of. It’s kind of like dropping something in the ocean and watching it disappear into the abyss. It makes your stomach churn with the uncertainty of how deep it goes and how small you feel.

On the outside, grief appears to be a constant, as if you will feel sad and depressed until you're not. There were days when I would pull up to the grocery store, and I couldn’t bring myself to get out of the car. So I would sit and watch people carry on with their lives, oblivious to how fortunate they were to not be in a state of deep grief. Other days, I would wake up feeling pretty good in the morning, but the sadness would take over in the afternoon. Something small would trigger tears, and I would be ugly crying in broad daylight. That one feels weird.

All the while, I was wondering what was wrong with me. Why was I not processing grief like a normal person? I tried everything I could think of to level out my emotions. Nothing seemed to work. The point is, grief is not fixed and can be unpredictable at times.

The mistake I made was not that I was broken, but thinking I could fix myself. It’s easy to focus on the physical fix, but neglect the God who made us. The ancient church and martyrs in between were filled with so much hope of God’s kingdom that literal and physical harm and even torture could not divide their joy. They knew true healing would only come in part in this life and be completed in the next.

He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.

1 Peter 2:24

That’s why a blended approach is best. Take small steps to change your physical and spiritual state, recognizing that the two are connected. We are broken, and broken people have broken responses to loss. There are healthy ways to inch forward in grief. The basics go a long way. Read and pray the Psalms, get sunlight and exercise, eat a good meal, get around other people—you don’t have to talk, attend a church service, and most importantly, allow yourself to grieve.

Lean into the emotions. You know that tingle feeling when tears are coming on. Don’t push it down. You’re not broken for crying; you will break if you don’t. This will not be forever. Take it one hour, one day, and one week at a time, and you will begin to heal.

7. the perfect moment doesn’t exist. Say it anyway.

We have the idea that there will be a moment, the right situation, that feels right to express our most genuine thoughts and feelings. It’s not true. Don’t buy the lie. The problem isn’t that the situation doesn’t exist. The problem is that we don’t want to expose what we really think and feel. It makes us susceptible to being rejected in a way that hits the true us. We want to protect the essence of who we are with platitudes as our shield. If someone rejects a shallow comment, it’s frustrating, but who really cares?

Get down to brass tacks with those you love while you can. It won’t feel natural; it will feel awkward. But it’s a lot harder to regret not saying how you truly feel once they are gone. This goes for both gratitude and rebuke. If we don’t confront pain, we tolerate how people treat us and close the door to forgiveness and reconciliation.

I am thankful to have had the intuition to call Dad back after he said something untrue about his life toward the end. I had to call him back to remind him how God used him to do big things in people's lives. I also lovingly and kindly rebuked him for the unresolved pain he was partially responsible for. Both felt awkward and tough. Although I could have said more, I’m grateful for a few things that were.

8. Grief will turn you away or toward God.

Most people don’t know what they truly believe about God until irreparable loss takes us by the hand. When the bottom falls out, our assumptions about God rise to the surface.

Comedian Pete Holmes once described an arrangement he thought he had with God. If he did all the right things—if he didn’t drink, curse, or steal, if he went to church, prayed, and evangelized the lost —then God owed him. God would protect him from harm. But then his wife had an affair, they ended in divorce, and his deal with God collapsed.

Pete walked away from God.

Now he claims to be agnostic.

A lot of us are carrying this version of a deal with God. It’s exhausting. If you think an attribute of God is fairness, you have this apparent arrangement. Fairness implies you are owed something from God. We don’t want fairness, we want mercy.

So Pete, and many others, reject the God of the bible by trying to dictate the terms and conditions of the relationship. Then, when it didn’t go his way, Pete rejected Christianity on a false understanding.

Don’t be like Pete.

God has given you life when he didn’t have to. He has been patient with you as we say one thing and do another.

In your heart of hearts, do you live as if God owes you? Or do you live as if you owe God?

When loss comes in, it reveals the operating system we have been engaging with God.

I believe it to be the case that loss is simply God graciously removing things that might get in the way of you finding Him most beautiful.

God helps us reckon our lives to the proper end goal. It doesn’t make loss diminish. But it does help us truly see that Christ is our greatest good.

Like Jacob wrestling with God through the night, grief forces us into a struggle we can’t win, but where God meets us with blessing.

When we turn toward God during pain and loss, it uncovers the genuine offer that God has for us.

His grace is sufficient.