Grief and Remembrance
Open Your Bible
Jeremiah 8:18, Psalm 42:1-11, Genesis 23:1-4, Genesis 23:19, Isaiah 25:8, Psalm 43:1-5, Isaiah 65:19-20
BY Kaitlin Wernet
My very first memory is the day I became a sister. As soon as the birth of my baby brother was announced, I kicked open the maternity ward doors with my red Keds, singing, “I’m a Little Teapot” at the top of my lungs. He was the tiniest, sweetest, greatest thing to happen to my two-and-a-half-year-old life.
A few years later, I’d be clever enough to replace the words in another favorite nursery rhyme, “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” with my own name and reality, singing,
Mary Kaitlin had a little brother,
Had a little brother, had a little brother.
Mary Kaitlin had a little brother
Who lived in her house too.
I taught the song to my classmates, who’d sing it as I paraded through the elementary school carpool line, hand in hand with my little lamb. Some days I still wake up with this tune stuck in my head, rolling over to realize, yet again, the song’s taunting truth: I had a little brother—past tense. He’s gone now.
In the days following my brother’s death, the influx of sympathy cards, corn casseroles, news stories, pastoral visits, written obituaries, and floral arrangements all sang in unison, stuck on the same line: “Had a little brother, had a little brother, had a little brother.”
Death had stolen my song.
During the funeral, I stood in the first church pew, ready to lace up my red Keds, kick open the sanctuary doors, and go claim my little brother. I decided it wasn’t too late for it to all be a big mistake. I was waiting for Grief to admit it had chosen the wrong family, for Tragedy to apologize, and for Sorrow to pack its bags. It all made more sense that way, because my brother was the kind of guy who’d blush at all this attention and giggle at the amount of formality. Or was he? I was already forgetting.
My thoughts are my most unreliable grief companion, with the capacity to be my sweetest advocate or my biggest traitor. Like having a sore muscle, I become afraid to make the next move, knowing that walking through memories has the power to heal, but it also has the power to hurt.
Inside the front door of our childhood home, there’s a piano, the bench cushion worn equally on both sides. Together, my brother and I had written our own rendition of “Heart and Soul”—he on the bass clef, me on the treble. I sit in the same spot now, alone, recalling all of my notes perfectly, the duet only heard in my head. I remember all of his notes too. And I’m reminded that I am still Mary Kaitlin, but I no longer have a little brother who lives in my house too. I feel like the psalmist, pounded by the waves:
“Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your breakers and your billows have swept over me.
The Lord will send his faithful love by day;
his song will be with me in the night—
a prayer to the God of my life” (Psalm 42:7–8).
Death can steal our song, but it cannot stop us from singing. And while I hold onto the hope of heaven, I am relieved and comforted by remembering God’s faithfulness to me in all things, right now.
When I hear one of our old songs, sometimes I listen, and other times I don’t. But when I’m feeling brave, I begin to mouth the words of that childhood song about my little brother, and I’m reminded of the true root of my grief: love. And that’s something I’ll never forget.
152 thoughts on "Grief and Remembrance"
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I was confused about the Scripture: deep calls to deep. I was going your writing would help clarify and it does. Thanks!
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I first looked at today’s Scriptures mere hours before learning that a faithful man that I looked up to, and whose wisdom helped me during a crisis in my own life, passed away unexpectedly. Today, of all days, I am so thankful that God reminded me of His promise that one day death will no longer exist.
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After reading this I looked up the song Amazing Grace (My chains are gone) By Chris Tomlin. It’s been just over 11 years since my daddy passed away. He was the best! He loved Jesus so much! It gives me comfort that there’s no more diabetes, no more amputated leg. He has a new glorified body. I still miss him greatly but with time my pain has eased. Each year got better, but he is still greatly missed. At his funeral, I remember I did not say goodbye to my dad. Instead I said, “I’ll see you later daddy.”
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“Death can steal our song, but it cannot stop us from singing”
I love this and will remember this when I start missing my mom or grieving lost relationships.Thank you for your words, Kaitlin, they were such a comfort.
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I so agree! I love that line, too. Thank you, Kaitlin. Beautiful.
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Going through grief can be so so tough! It can take a little while before you’re able to get to a place of remembrance, but what I have to hold onto in those moments or seasons of grief is that The Lord is going to take to to that place of remembrance. That I don’t have to do it alone. I appreciate that God is a God of seasons and that He doesn’t expect us to go through all the range of emotions and events all at once or not at all. That he gives us seasons in which we can have time to go through things life grief, but He also gives us time to heal and to remember.
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This was beautifully said!
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Thank you for this.. I am working on being on the other side where God can override the grief that grips me so suddenly that my breath is squeezed out. Especially this time of year as the memories of good with my daughter in the last days of her life turn now as I know she will be gone 3 years tomorrow. I cling to God,though, aa he has promised me hope, a future and things for the good.
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“I’m reminded of the true root of my grief: love. And that’s something I’ll never forget.“ Thank you God that I have experienced grief because it means I have loved. ❤️
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I hold grief at a distance these days. There was a time when I could not. It was a constant unwanted companion. It threatened to suffocate me, immobilize me. The power of God’s Word gave me the release and solace I sought. I clung to it, to Him, as the lifeline He is. Slowly, grief withdrew its tentacles and I could take a deep breath and a step forward. I still remember the source of the sorrow, the darkness and the sadness, but it keeps its distance now. It is a mere memory, a part of my story, true, but it no longer dominates nor defines me. I recollect and rejoice that I am on this side of all of that. It tries to sneak up on me but God has me surrounded. He goes behind me and before me, above and below. Grief has no grip on me. I have grown out of it, from it, through it. God remains faithful. He is my constant stronger companion and He is good all the time.
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I hope to one day be able to hold it at a distance, too. Right now, it’s hands are constantly gripped around my heart, my gut, everything causing constant anxiety. I’m not grieving the death of a loved one, instead grieving the loss of my life as I once knew it. I know a God is working it all out in some way to bring a new purpose to my life, but right now I’m struggling through the memory of what my life once was and what it is now. Thank you for sharing your experience with grief. It helps me feel some hope that I, too, may get there.
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