By Dr. Donna Downs

As I sit looking out the window, red, yellow, and brown leaves fall from autumn trees and float away in the breeze; I wonder if it hurts the limbs to let them go. Does pain exist in nature’s every arena as one remains and the other stops holding on?

Does what is left of the residual volcano scream in pain as its inward lava bursts into the sky and flows down its mountain side? Does the sea ache as tides come and go and living creatures that had made their home in its depth remain amid the sandy shores? Do mountains feel great loss when the snow and ice that had become a part of them leave the mountain bare in a snowslide?

Animals grieve at loss: Some cover the bodies of their dead with dirt and branches; some carry the deceased bodies around; some stand vigil over the lifeless; some isolate; and some simply wail.

Grief is a multifaceted emotion that is difficult to maneuver, and at times, nearly impossible to understand. I know this because for the past several months, I’ve been watching my momma give up on life, rally, give up on life, rally again, to the point of simply wearing out. I’ve experienced her saying goodbyes, praying for death, hearing songs come from Heaven. Still, she remains. Still, I grieve moment by moment and wonder how that grief will change when she finally lets go.

As I ponder the verse, “the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18 NIV), it is evident that He has given Momma a sense of peace and assured her in ways only He can that she is safe in His arms. She has said she is ready to go, but she mourns for those she will leave behind, declaring her love and assuring us we will be okay. 

Maybe she is the brokenhearted, she who is leaving. Maybe I am the crushed in spirit, the one who must learn to let go, the one He will need to save once she’s gone.

When Jesus says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted,” (Matthew 5:4 NIV) I wonder how mourning differs from grief; for, in grief I have found little comfort. I wonder how exactly to take His yoke upon me and learn from Him and find rest in my soul (Matthew 11:28-30). I wonder how to cast my anxiety upon Him and feel His care for me (1 Peter 5:7) when at times I feel so all alone, desperate for life to remain in this woman who gave me birth.

Momma knows nearly every hymn by heart and can word-for-word recite the 23rd Psalm. As verse 4 (NIV) says, "Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me,” she seems to be letting go of her fear and finding comfort in her soul.

Many times in her life, she has readily claimed that she has been fearful, from the days of World War II when she and her sisters would cover their heads in bed as planes flew over, to days of illness in her children that she feared would end in death, to days of wondering how she would survive after watching her own mother pass. But today she seems to have found comfort she has been seeking all her life.

In my own grief, I am comforted thinking that life exists beyond this: “For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:17-18 NIV). Seeking to fix my own eyes on what is eternal and consider this life for all of us as temporary, I try to imagine this letting go as fleeting, momentary, transitory; yet, still I grieve. Still, I seek strength.

As I sit by her side, hold her hand, and watch Momma slip from this earth, I seek to remember, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore, we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea” (Psalm 46:1-2 NIV).

I strive to understand this thing we call nature, how the earth gives way through great quakes, and mountains fall into the sea, causing unimaginable consequences.

And I believe that all of nature grieves when that which remains experiences this letting go; watching that which was a living, thriving part of it float through the air and drift away with the gentle breeze.

Dr. Donna Downs is the Associate Professor of Communication at Taylor University in Upland, Ind.