In A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis shares his profound feelings of despair as he witnessed his wife’s gradual passing from cancer. He begins the book with the poignant reflection: “Nobody ever told me.”

Let me tell you something about grief.

I spoke at my wife’s aunt’s memorial service yesterday, just one week before Mother’s Day. That stirred up subterranean emotions. And I have been slightly askance for the last day or two. With apologies to Flannery O’Connor, I write so that I can read what I know or feel.

We honor our grief by remembering. This loss requires a careful examination. We must hold on to it long enough for its full impact to resonate within us. In today’s fast-paced society, we are often urged to move on and find quick fixes. However, biblical tradition and history illustrate that grief deserves time and space. Even Jesus grieved upon learning of John the Baptist’s tragic death: “When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place” (Matthew 14:13).

Ignore those who claim that grieving indicates a lack of faith or that only the weak experience sorrow. Grief is a natural response, and God, in His wisdom, has given us a way to process our pain.

Treasure the memories. Both tears of joy and sadness will arise. A funeral service marks not the middle or the end of the grieving process, but merely the beginning.

We embrace grief by rebuilding. The swirling questions in your mind and heart—How long will this last? Why is this happening? Where is God during this time?—are entirely normal.

Grief is a stealthy emotion.

Five years ago, I faced the loss of my mother to cancer. I was invited to speak at her memorial service, a privilege that comes from being a preacher in a family dedicated to faith in Jesus.

A few months following her service, I found myself feeling unusually irritable with my dog, the cat, and even the mailman. I voiced my confusion to my wife, Lynette, lamenting my disconnection from the world. In her wisdom, she suggested, “Your mother died a few weeks ago. Why not take a walk in the woods?” In other words, “Take a hike.”

Since I always heed my wife’s advice, I went for a walk. During that time, I contemplated my mother’s passing and the sacred sorrow in my heart. I grappled initially with the question: Why, God? But as I walked, that question faded, replaced by another: Which way, God? While I received no answer to the first question, the second question found a response.

I first felt a profound gratitude for the years filled with love and support my mother provided. She had taught me that as long as life persists, we have responsibilities—not only to God but also to others. In reflecting on my mother’s wisdom, I came to know that perseverance is the most underrated spiritual discipline. Just keep going back to God…day after day after day.

No matter what.

Ultimately, I was comforted by the presence of God. He accompanied me as I traversed the lonely path of sorrow. Returning from my walk, the sadness remained deeply rooted, yet with each step toward my mountain home, I felt the warm embrace of the one who wept outside His friend’s tomb in Palestine two millennia ago. Profound sadness and loss can coexist with deep joy and incandescent hope in the same heart. Call them sacred companions, maybe.

If you feel stuck in your sorrow, I wonder if sometimes we resist moving forward because our pain is the last connection we have to what was lost.

But don’t ever say, “No one ever told me.”

I just did.