We must learn to lament, and as we come to the first s in our loss acrostic, part of lamenting involves sitting with the both/and of ambiguous loss.
S itting With Both/And
“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief (emphasis mine), it grows perhaps the greater.”
Haldir, and elf of Lothlorien, Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
Each loss I experience is giving me eyes to see that “getting over it” is a foolish fallacy. It’s a lie we tell ourselves to avoid the tension of imperfect solutions.1 “Closure” is definitely the ideal that’s dangled in front of us like a carrot, but how realistic is it?
“I should be past this.” Really?
If I’ve loved, shouldn’t I want to remember?
“Getting over it” isn’t a goal we should fight to achieve when we wrestle through ambiguous loss.
Coming to the end of myself and my need for closure and certainty in the midst of ambiguous loss is teaching me to embrace the both/and over the either/or. To embrace the paradox of absence and presence, and how they hold hands in the midst of my loss.
God embraces the paradox, too, friend.
My word nerd and history buff are pretty well-established by now, so bear with me for just a little bit…
A paradox is a person, situation, or action having seemingly contradictory qualities or phases.
Did you know that the ancient Greeks were well aware that a paradox can take us outside our usual way of thinking? They combined the prefix para- ("beyond" or "outside of") with the verb dokein ("to think", which also sounds a little like Tolkien wink-wink), forming paradoxos, an adjective meaning "contrary to expectation", which then turns into the Latin paradoxum, which English speakers borrowed during the 1500s to create the word paradox.2
Beyond or outside of what we think. Contrary to expectation.
What seems foolish is wisdom, and strength is made perfect. We must also embrace the paradox. We must sit with the both/and.
In true embracing-the-paradox fashion, Jesus uses spit and dirt mixed into mud to restore a blind man’s vision.3 Something unpleasant brings healing and sight, and I can’t help but see the connection in the journey with ambiguous loss.
God uses the unpleasantness of unresolved loss and uncertainty to give sight - eyes to see him and his very certain presence in the midst of uncertainty.
The closure I desperately search for is found in him. When I’m confronted with the contradictions of ambiguous loss, I’m given an opportunity to accept the loss as real and move forward with new hope.
“...and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”
As love mingles with grief, there are times glimpses of a greater love shine through. A love that can only be seen through a muddy veil.
Until next time,
Becky
I’ve cited it in a previous post, but as a reminder: The Myth of Closure by Pauline Boss has been such a helpful resource in naming and understanding my ambiguous loss. The whole concept of “getting over it” as it relates to loss and the pressure we put on ourselves and others by hanging on to this as a goal is really unhelpful.
Merriam-Webster for the win yet again with definitions and word origins.
You can read through John 9 for the full story.