Good grief: A weekend with lifetime friends yields a new definition

“There’s just no substitute for lifetime friends,” a friend said to me in the middle of last weekend when we were together with a circle of such friends.

It’s the eighth time this group has gathered for a long weekend together (and I’ve written about it twice before). We knew this year would be different. And special.

We are a circle of 10, but this year only 9 of us were there. Evelyn remained satisfied and safe in her new home at the memory care center.

That’s new, but that’s only the beginning.

In the 15 months since we last met, one friend in this group has endured weeks-long treatment for breast cancer.
One couple has dealt with challenging changes in their extended family.
One friend nursed her daughter back to health after an accident with a horse that broke the bones in her face.
One couple watched their daughter-in-law struggle with and then succumb to cancer, leaving a young husband and two little children.
Another lost their son to cancer just two weeks ago, only five weeks after he received his diagnosis.

Such sadness, such stress, such loss—all in one group, all in one year. It would be too much to bear if we didn’t have God and connections with others who also trust him. And when those connections are with people we’ve stayed close to for decades, the strength they provide is incomparable.

Not difficult

On the first evening of our retreat, someone asked me, “Is it hard for you to be here without Evelyn?”

No, being there wasn’t difficult. It was wonderful. I knew months ago, even before Evelyn moved, that I wanted to attend and would need to go without her. I was planning to provide care for her at home. 

I’m getting used to navigating my life alone today. She hasn’t been a partner or helper to me for two or three years. But remembering Evelyn and my life with her before then is hard. I can accept how she is. But thinking back to all we’ve lost as Alzheimer’s has stolen it away—I can seldom do that without tears.

New companion

It’s the grief, of course. Grief was our companion last weekend. We listened to the parents of the newly deceased son recounting details of their trauma. Several allowed me to talk about Evelyn, in extended answers to “How is she doing?” We gladly sat with our friend undergoing chemotherapy when she needed to rest. We heard about grandchildren whose mother is gone.

We cried. And we laughed. Oh, how we laughed! Yes, we hashed out deep issues, but we also giggled over favorite memories. We listened to accounts about the difficulties in each other’s lives, and we oohed and aahed about the abundant food at every meal, followed (and sometimes preceded!) by desserts from home waiting on the Airbnb’s kitchen counters.

We read Scriptures and sang hymns about Heaven at our living room Sunday service. Someone said, “I think THIS is what Heaven will be like!”

Helpful conclusion

Sometime over the weekend, I saw a series of tweets from Jan Jowen (@janjowen on X), a widow reflecting on her grief journey after losing her husband. All of her conclusions are helpful, but one in particular resonated with me amid this special time with friends.

“I believe we can, and will, experience both joy/happiness and grief at the same time,” she wrote. “Learning to hold two seemingly conflicting emotions at the same time is a hallmark of the grieving journey.”

This is good grief. Grief that does not deny the losses while knowing they do not tell the whole story. Grief feels consuming at times, but it need not—dare not—push away every delight and duty still before us. And when it’s shared with patient friends with whom you’ve lived life for years, there’s only one word for the experience.

Joy.