I thought I knew

Good morning.

I thought I knew about grief. After all, I’ve been a priest for years, sitting with bereaved families in hospitals and homes, listening to stories, offering prayers and simply being there in situations of loss. Then, a few months ago, our own family was changed forever by a sudden, tragic bereavement and I've been gently humbled.

One of the unexpected things we’ve noticed since Mum died is how often we keep losing other things. Keys vanish, phones are misplaced, watches, books and glasses seem to wander off on their own little adventures. At first it was faintly comic. But over time, it’s begun to feel as though the major loss we’re carrying is echoed in other tiny losses.

Grief, I’m learning, isn’t tidy. It makes us tired, distracted and emotionally overloaded. Learning to be patient with ourselves - to say, “Of course I’ve lost my keys; I’ve lost my mum” - is strangely healing. Each small loss then becomes a reminder of what truly matters, and (if it happens) each little recovery - offers a quiet, reassurance.

For Christians, these little reunions whisper a deeper hope: that loss isn’t the final word. Just as we’re often reunited with what we’ve mislaid, so we trust that love endures beyond death. Letters from people who knew Mum, telling us how precious she was to them, help us treasure her still - not in our hands, but in our hearts.

God of compassion, be close to all who grieve, steady us in loss, and bless us with gentleness. Deepen our hope and help us to find joy and peace in you. Amen.