Unless you have sat in the front row of a funeral, you do not know how painful grief can be.

You are not alone in the front-row seat. An unwelcome visitor named Grief now clings to you like the humidity of a Georgia August. You discover a newfound sense of emptiness as wave after wave of memories overwhelms you. It is oppressive and relentless, and it’s all your fault.

That’s right.  It is your fault.

Why? Front-row funeral people are often the greatest lovers of those who have passed away. You cannot grieve what you do not love. Grief is the unspoken price tag of love, a cost that remains silent until that loved one is lost. Then, it shouts with a megaphone.

As one poet defined it, 

Grief.

It is the silence of an empty room.

It is the weight of a thousand unshed tears.

It is the darkened whisper of the heart, a silent scream that echoes through the soul, a wound that time can never truly heal.

It is the ghost that haunts the quiet night, the tear that falls unseen, unheard, and alone.

Front-row funeral people soon realize the heavy burden of small things—the empty spot at the table, the bed too large for one person, and the morning routines that must now change. The crushing weight of small things breaks the heart, exhausts the soul, and clouds the mind.

In a futile attempt to be encouraging, some people tell you that time heals all wounds.  These people have never sat in the front row of a funeral.  Time doesn’t heal; it provides distance. The rawness of the pain may soften.  But only a little. The ache of loss remains, a constant reminder that someone is missing — and the importance of savoring the present.  After all, the future is not guaranteed.

But again, if I may be so bold, one’s grief is a holy ache.  The loss of a parent, a spouse, or a child is a sacred union broken — a pain not easily consoled.  This grief runs so deep it can only find true relief in one place.  A sacred relationship lost requires a spiritual solution for consolation. 

Grief reminds us that this life is not the way it is supposed to be. This Holy Ache within us awakens our souls to the fact that God alone is our Rock, our Light, and our firm foundation. He is the author of life, life meant to be eternal. Death is separation, but only a temporary separation, until that day when there are no more tears, no more pain, and no more Holy Ache.

Someone else sits with us in the front row of a funeral. As the Psalmist declares, “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18). He knows the depth of our grief. He whispers consoling grace and assures us that our grief is real, normal, and comes from a place of love. And while our spirits may be crushed, there is hope eternal.

Sitting in the front row of a funeral is when you learn the cost of love. The price is high.  

But it is worth it.