“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me…” In Psalm 23, King David offers a metaphor for grief to those who have experienced the death of a loved one. He likens the landscape of loss to a valley of shadows. David’s description is both poetic and comforting. I’ve proven that time and time again. In 30 years of pastoral ministry, I have waxed theological on the meaning of those timeless words at countless memorial services.

All the same, four months after my dad’s death, I have come up with my own metaphor for grief. I see the struggle of lingering sorrow more like a hike up a mountain than a stroll through a shadowy valley. Both a vertical climb and bereavement sap your strength, suck your joy and weigh you down. Both breed exhaustion and aches that words can’t describe. In preparation for a recent sermon on the life of Moses, I wanted to personally identify with his trek to the top of a mountain overlooking the Promised Land.

Since I had never hiked up Mount Si, I figured that this would be a good time to do it. I asked a friend, who had made that trek several times, if he would go with me. Andy agreed. The cloudless blue sky beckoned me upward. So did my naïve expectations. I began the hike with a brisk stride that soon slowed. Andy encouraged me to pace myself. Within the first 20 minutes of the ascent, I was huffing and puffing. Grateful for the ski poles which Andy loaned me, I leaned on them. I also leaned on his advice to stop periodically to rest and drink water. When my legs began to burn, I felt like giving up. My vocalized sighs caused me to wonder if those who named Mount Si hadn’t misspelled it. My friend encouraged me to keep on.

Two hours and 40 minutes after leaving the parking lot, Andy and I reached the summit of Mount Si. Although I ached from shoulders to shins, the view of Mount Rainier and the snowcapped Olympics was indescribably beautiful. At the end of this exhausting climb, I enjoyed a breathtaking and insightful perspective. Coming to terms with where I had come from, to reach where I was, proved most instructive. But I wouldn’t have made it without someone at my side.

Yes, the journey from an open grave into a future without a loved one does resemble a hike up a steep mountain trail. It is painfully difficult and unbelievably demanding, but unquestionably worthwhile. Four months into my own grief journey, I am more fully alive than I was before my dad’s death. Along the path leading from death, I have gained perspectives of life that I didn’t know existed. I am especially grateful for my companions on “the trail” who have been there before. Family, friends and church members have been a God-send. Grief is a trail that is definitely too difficult to be traveled alone. Did you know that there are a variety of grief support opportunities in our area from which to choose? Youth and Family Services offers a monthly course at the Community Center at Mercer View, the second Thursday of each month. Overlake Hospital has grief support groups that meet regularly. Covenant Shores offers periodic classes for those who have experienced loss. Individual congregations on Mercer Island have their own classes to aid those who have experienced death, divorce or unemployment. I am grateful that the church I serve has just started such a course.

An old Swedish proverb says it well, “A shared joy is a doubled joy. A shared sorrow is half a sorrow.” Having someone with whom to share your heartache doesn’t remove grief from your life entirely, but it helps you to reach a height far beyond what you thought possible. I would call that good grief.

Greg Asimakoupoulos is the pastor of Mercer Island Covenant Church and contributes regularly to the Reporter.