Kristina Lunde

The Lord is my strength and my song.
Psalm 118:14a

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March 30, 2022 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Grief in a Thrift Shop

A trip to my favorite consignment store during this COVID-19 pandemic provided a surprising social interaction last week. Only God knew that I would have a grief-related encounter. He orchestrated the timing, people, and circumstances for the event. My goal involved only getting out of the house to shop.

As often happens when I have time and money to shop, nothing fits, the clothing doesn’t look right, or I just can’t find anything. After my frustrations in the dressing room, I walked around the corner and looked at stuff that I didn’t really need or want to buy.

Suddenly two staff members moved quickly to the front of the store. “Sit down! Catch your breath!” They urged a customer to sit down in a chair. Then I heard heavy panting amid attempts to speak. Two employees were giving instructions to someone in obvious distress. “Rest a minute. Can I get you some water?” Thinking it was a medical emergency, I came around the clothes racks to offer help if needed.

Not all of the woman’s words were audible; she gasped for air and spoke from the chair. “Respiratory distress . . . in the hospital . . . nothing they could do.”

This was no medical emergency. The woman expressed her emotional pain, pouring out her grief after the recent death of a loved one. Thinking she was newly widowed, I came closer, hoping to speak with her. Two staff members were by her side, so I didn’t approach.

Photo by Jeremy Wong/Unsplash

Instead, I took a pen and paper out of my purse and wrote down the GriefShare website link as I listened. By then, the second staff member had left, and the woman in the chair slowed her breathing. Her emotional pain tumbled out in disjointed words. “The clothes in the bags – I washed them all. They are brand names . . . good quality.” Her son had died suddenly after a short hospitalization.

When only one staff member stood at her side, I approached slowly and put my hand on the grieving woman’s shoulder. After a pause in the conversation, I mentioned that my husband died of a sudden heart attack sixteen years ago. Acknowledging that grief is very difficult, I asked how she was sleeping. I listened as the woman admitted that she could not sleep, eat, or focus on anything. All of that was normal, I assured her. Her brain had to work overtime to process the painful truth of her loved one’s death. I encouraged her to take care of herself in basic ways, like resting, eating, and drinking water.

Expressing concern over how hard she was working to wash, sort, and donate her son’s clothes, I advised her not to rush through those decisions. Instead, she should consider that there are people who will make quilts, teddy bears, and mementos with fabric from her loved one’s clothes. She mentioned that her granddaughter took some shirts to have teddy bears sewn.

Then I gave her the GriefShare link and suggested she sign up for the daily emails of comfort and encouragement. Also, she could look up grief support groups on the website. By that time, the woman had calmed her breathing. She stood up and walked toward the front door. I went back to browse the housewares.

“Where did that lady go?” I heard the store owner ask the cashier. After being pointed my way, the owner came over. “Thank you so much for helping that woman. How sad. I think things happen for a reason. Otherwise, what a coincidence that you were here at the time that lady came in!”

“I believe that God arranged those circumstances and that He had this all planned. He put all of this together knowing that that woman needed support.”

Later as I paid for my items, the cashier also thanked me. “My devotion this morning in Jesus Always [Jesus Always: Embracing Joy in His Presence by Sarah Young] was exactly about this kind of thing.”

“Don’t you love how God can teach us lessons and reinforce them in many ways?” I asked. At her agreement, I smiled.

Once again, I felt awe and honor at how God surprised me with an opportunity to comfort a grieving person (2 Corinthians 1:4-5).

Lord God, please comfort that precious woman whose son died. Give your comfort and peace to her whole family as they grieve this sudden death. Please be with those of us in the store that day: teach us to rely on you, share your love with others, and trust you to be involved in our everyday activities. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
[Originally posted April 2021]

Filed Under: Grief Tagged With: comfort, coronavirus, grief, GriefShare, pandemic

March 30, 2022 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

COVID-19 Deaths: A Grief Dismembered

Dismembered grief might best describe grieving during the current COVID-19 pandemic.
Photo by Jonathan Cooper/Unsplash

A son mourns the death of his mother, 3000 miles away. Travel quarantines and hospital restrictions kept him from saying goodbye in person. A phone held to her ear was too late; she never regained consciousness.

She begged her snowbird parents not to go south during the pandemic; they traveled anyway. Now, she flies cross-country to be with her mother as her father lies hospitalized, dying of COVID.

A wife races to the hospital after her husband arrives by ambulance. Blood clots, a heart attack, death. Many people assumed that he died of COVID.

A husband outlives his prognosis and fights valiantly to spend more time with his family, but dies of cancer during the COVID pandemic. COVID deaths dominate the media, but cancer continues to claim lives.

Grief, grief, and more grief. All grief hurts, and the current pandemic deeply impacts how people live, die, and grieve. Who could predict so much death—over half of a million deaths in this country alone—due to SARS-CoV-2, the virus that causes COVID-19 disease? In the United States, COVID deaths now exceed mortality rates due to other causes. Whether someone dies of COVID or another cause, this pandemic affects the mourning and grieving of all deaths. This coronavirus impacts specific aspects of grief: anticipatory, disenfranchised, and complicated.

Anticipatory Grief

Anticipatory grief offers the chance to acknowledge and gradually adjust to the upcoming loss and grief. For example, a terminally ill person and his family might prepare emotionally and logistically for the inevitable death. In contrast, COVID-19 robs people of time for anticipatory grief, as the disease may suddenly progress from cold symptoms to dangerously low oxygen levels, sometimes resulting in ventilator dependence and death before diagnosis.

COVID-imposed restrictions also impair anticipatory grief. With multiple household gatherings discouraged, extended families cannot gather at the bedside as their loved one dies. How can traditional rituals surrounding death and dying be implemented in the midst of shutdowns and quarantines?

Disenfranchised Grief

Kenneth Doka, a death education and counseling expert for over 30 years, wrote the book that defines disenfranchised grief as “not socially sanctioned, openly acknowledged, or publicly mourned.” The COVID-19 pandemic contributes to these aspects of disenfranchisement. Efforts to prevent virus transmission curtail or even prohibit public expressions of community grief or rituals focused on the dying family member. What about the sorrow and guilt people experience when they cannot host visitations, wakes, reviewals, or other mourning traditions to honor their deceased loved ones? Large funerals and food-serving receptions are viewed as virus-spreading events instead of valued as comforting family reunions. Funerals and memorial services are indefinitely postponed until after the pandemic, depriving mourners of public acknowledgment and spiritual community as they grieve alone.

Complicated Grief

What aspects of COVID disease and deaths have not complicated the process of grieving?! Whereas complicated grief used to be an ill-defined term in the clinical context, now Persistent Complex Bereavement Disorder (PCBD), categorizes complicated grief in the most recent Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM–5). Whether COVID-related emotional trauma persists and propels a person’s complicated grief into a PCBD diagnosis might not be evident until after the pandemic.

Dismembered Grief

The COVID pandemic may prevent anticipatory grief, result in disenfranchised grief, and further complicate grief. I call these pandemic effects dismembered grief, because COVID-related restrictions separate grieving people from their loved ones, cut off emotional and spiritual supports, and deprive loved ones of time together, both before and after death. Grieving during this time can feel lonely and disjointed. Socialization limitations, travel quarantines, solitary living, separation mandates, in-person events moved online—all of these lifestyle changes lead to what I identify as dismembered grief during the coronavirus chaos.

Comfort in Grief

How do we comfort those who grieve during this pandemic? In my experience, when grief interfered with eating, sleeping, and much of my life, I relied on others for emotional, physical, and spiritual support. These seven ideas help acknowledge, comfort, and support a grieving person, during this pandemic and beyond:

  • mention their loved one’s name
  • listen to them talk about their loved one
  • write them an encouraging note
  • talk/write about a memory of their loved one
  • drop off a meal
  • offer to help with one task: e.g. household chore, errand, event
  • ask what you can do for/with their kids: take them on an outing, give rides, teach them a skill, etc.

Helping with a specific task, or just sitting with a grieving person, provides more connection and assistance in an overwhelming situation than a vague offer of “call me if you need something.” The shock and trauma of a loved one’s death may block any ability to reach out for help. COVID-19 restrictions require creative problem-solving, but safe and relevant help will decrease the isolation of grief.

Note: If you are grieving, consider joining an online grief support group (e.g. GriefShare). For specific grief resources, contact your local faith community, counseling center, hospice program, or funeral home.

[Originally posted March 2021]

Filed Under: coronavirus Tagged With: anticipatory grief, complicated grief, coronavirus, COVID-19, disenfranchised grief, dismembered grief, grief, GriefShare, pandemic

March 30, 2022 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Inside the Window: A Battle Against COVID

Inside the window, she battles COVID-19. One long day at a time.

That last phone conversation with my husband. Now I remember! Me coughing and hacking, as he suggested an emergency room visit because I might have coronavirus. Independent me—of course I said no. Until that next day, when I started sucking air like I was breathing through a coffee stir stick. Only then did I drive myself to the hospital. Did I call him when I was admitted?! Everything is such a blur now. What November day was that? How many days have I been here? The news reports describe how COVID-19 progresses from breathing problems to ventilator, and then to death. I am so scared. And tired . . .

Inside the window, she confronts COVID. Alone in her thoughts.

The nurse pointed to my husband, standing outside my ICU (intensive care unit) window. With the sun behind him, I recognized his profile. My personal strong man. I so wish I could see his face. Before this breathing tube kept me from speaking, I remember how he yelled at me from outside the window. I barely heard him through my Darth-Vader-sounding oxygen mask. He yacked on and on about memories of our honeymoon, family trips, and our special trip to California last year. How embarrassing: he was outside practically shouting about our personal life while people walked up the hospital sidewalk! Like they want to hear our litany of family vacations. But he confidently reminds me of our memories and keeps his promise to be there for me. This coronavirus thing, why can’t they let him inside to visit me?!

Inside the window, she faces an unknown battle against COVID.
Outside the window, he stands in his COVID vigil of love.

There he is at the ICU window again. My man. The one who thrilled me on that day so long ago when my friend and I hitchhiked in the city. Me, the small-town girl who planned to see the world. Him, the sun-bleached dude with the big smile. I can’t remember what I said when the guys picked us up, but I gave my usual smart-mouthed comment. The good-looking one didn’t shrink back from my sharp tongue, but was impressed with my humor and took it as a challenge. Like a comedy routine, we bantered back and forth: his heckling to my irreverence, his gentle mocking to my biting sarcasm. How I love his sense of humor! He still won’t stoop to my snarkiness, but he makes me laugh every time. Our secret to forty-plus years of marriage.

Inside the window, nostalgia comforts her in the struggle against COVID.
Outside the window, he stands in his COVID vigil of love.

I am tired and scared. The low whoosh of air flowing and the muffled pump sounds of the ventilator can be soothing, but I startle awake every time it alarms. Someone in head-to-toe blue paper with a clear windshield for eyes comes in to check the alarms. The same generic outfit, but this time it’s the nurse with the high ponytail bump. The tube in my throat keeps me from talking, but not from terror. She gently brushes my arm as she silences the alarm, telling me that she just updated my husband on the phone. Then she hands me the letter board. Of course, I could spell out my million questions, one stupid letter at a time, but that would take all day. How do I get this tube out of my throat? Will I ever breathe on my own again, or will I die connected to this ventilator?

Inside the window, she combats COVID. One ventilator alarm at a time.

There is my husband, outside the window again. What?! Where am I? Oh yeah. Still in the hospital, in the town where I worked, three hours from our home in the city. Still on this ventilator that keeps me alive. Every time they give me a trial to breathe on my own, I panic and can’t continue. Then they medicate me so the ventilator can do my work of breathing. The tall nurse gives me updates, not that I understand it all, but he explains more of what “the team” is doing and why. But no one answers the big questions: will I get better? Do they explain this to my husband?! Will coronavirus kill me? I’m tired. I ache. I need to sleep . . .

Inside the window, she drifts in and out, fighting for breath against COVID. Outside the window, he stands in his COVID vigil of love.

I have to remember . . . through this mental fog . . . past the alarms . . . about the people in blue. Wasn’t that him I saw, dressed head-to-toe in blue paper garb? Or was that a dream? The window was dark, so he wouldn’t be outside. How could he be inside this ICU at night?! Is it only in my hopes and dreams? But I remember his voice, his outline, his presence. So real.

The next day, my “morning numbers” were surprisingly good; the team disconnected me from the ventilator for hours in a breathing trial. Some days later, they pulled the tube out and gave me an oxygen mask. For the first time in months, I talked with my husband on the phone. (Oh, how we used to take our daily phone conversations for granted! Never again.)

I used all my energy to speak, one breathy word at a time. “I . . . am . . . so . . . glad . . . to . . . be . . . alive.”

Inside the window, she finds her voice against COVID.

Lord Jesus, please be with her inside that window and battle the COVID-19 virus for her. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
[Originally posted January 2021]

Filed Under: coronavirus Tagged With: coronavirus, COVID-19, hospital, love, marriage, ventilator, vigil, window

March 30, 2022 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

A Christmas Gift of Morning Glory

After being on lockdown for months, relegated to working and living in her apartment during coronavirus chaos, she decided to buy some seeds in April of 2020. A packet of morning glory seeds brought a creative gardening spark to her little home. She filled terracotta pots with potting soil, pushed seeds into black dirt, and positioned pots on the window ledge. Having escaped the northern winters, she knew there would be no cold air in this urban apartment window. Frost layers did not surround the lower window edges. No cold breezes leaked around the window frame. In this southern climate, her plants did not face frost danger. She did not miss that northern chill; instead, she enjoyed the warmth and sunshine of this new climate.

The new job took her thousands of miles south of her previous position, which also meant leaving family and friends behind. Her arrival in the southern climate timed with the simultaneous COVID lockdown of that state in mid-March of 2020. Nine months later, she still works solely from home, conferences online with her team, and has not met her boss in-person. With restaurants and museums closed, she postpones her exploration of new surroundings. She joined a church and other online groups, but meeting people and making new friends remains a big challenge given the COVID restrictions.

For the first time in her quarter century of life, she could not spend Christmas with family or friends. Knowing that she could not see them in person, she arranged online get-togethers. She zoomed, skyped and Duo-phoned for virtual visits with family and friends. This pandemic Christmas proved to be strange and unique—definitely one to be remembered.

She loved her apartment. The new job offered great challenges and new experiences, although COVID restrictions resulted in different job responsibilities from the original posting. Although grateful for an enjoyable, steady job, she longed to explore and make new friends in the area, pursuing those positive aspects of a cross-country move that she had anticipated. And being so far from loved ones with no option of travel felt heart-wrenching at times, despite the new adventures of this pandemic season.

Rounding the corner into her living room that Christmas morning, a purple color on the window ledge caught her eye. She ran over and looked. There in one of the flower pots bloomed a symmetrical five-point star in gorgeous shades of purple. A morning glory had blossomed into full flower overnight.

A Christmas morning glory! An exquisite gift from the Creator Himself, sent on the anniversary of His son’s birth. In the midst of her solitude, God displayed His creative beauty. Just as God personally and miraculously entered that stable millennia ago, and later placed a large star in the Eastern sky, he now surprised one of His children with a beautiful star in her apartment window.

Lord God, let the beauty of your creation be recognized as your gift of love to those who seek you. In this season of remembering Christ’s birth, may people all over this world be drawn to you. Let those who seek, find answers in your Word. May they recognize your provision and protection in everything from small flowers to big miracles in the midst of COVID disease, pandemic lockdowns, and coronavirus chaos. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

[Originally posted December 2020]

Filed Under: coronavirus Tagged With: Christmas, coronavirus, COVID-19, morning glory, pandemic

March 30, 2022 by Kristina Lunde Leave a Comment

Christmas Origami

There once was a young lady on lockdown;
COVID-19 kept her housebound.
With a package from her mommy,
She crafted origami,
Turned mint wrappers to ornaments all-around.

[Originally posted December 2020]

Filed Under: coronavirus Tagged With: Christmas, coronavirus, origami, ornament

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