There are an awful lot of bad ways to lose a loved one. I don’t know a good one.

Currently, I’m inclined to think that dementia might be one of the worst, especially early onset dementia. It’s painful enough to lose someone through any kind of extended illness. Adding the loss of personality and the gradual but inescapable fading of recognition brings a special sort of pain.

Years ago, I provided the eulogy for one of those victims. As I attempted to console her sons privately, “I am sorry for the loss of your mother,” one of them responded, “Doc, we’ve been losing our mother for ten years.”

In the cases when death drags out for months or even years, there is a special wear of dread that frequently comes with that particular package. It’s a bit like being tied to the railroad tracks and seeing the train come in slow motion. Hearing that whistle from miles away. Perhaps feeling like we’re tied to the tracks alongside the loved one whose demise draws forth an interminable protraction of fear, sadness, anger, frustration, and grief.

With cancer, there is often visible decline that makes the aching even stronger. Before our eyes, they shrink and shrivel, flesh wasting away, devoured by an internal monster of mutation. Or, there is a gaining of fluid, a loss of strength, side effects of treatment that chisel away at quality of life. Any attempts at denial or self-deceit are ground away by the perceptible slide toward the end.

I’ve wondered if dealing with the aftermath of sudden trauma—unexpected heart attack, car crash, work accident—might be less tortuous. I’ve wondered but don’t desire the experience either way. I’ve already seen enough…

I saw, from a distance, my Dad’s decline that took only a few months after a fall when he was ninety-five. My Mom’s drew out over several years: gradual loss of weight and cognizance. Not once in my too few visits of her last three years in this world did she recognize me. There’s a special pain in that.

I’ve seen cases of children killed by vehicle accidents, a young father electrocuted in a mining mishap, a young mother snatched away while her children are still young. Families in shock after the suicide of a teenager or barely adult daughter.

Whether sudden or slow, the death of a loved one is a gut punch.

With the slow ones, at least there’s a warning. There’s time to say what should be said, to apologize for what shouldn’t have. To create special moments, to show caring, to remediate past lacks. To let each other know about such things as gratitude and appreciation… and forgiveness. There’s some measure of peace that comes from those things.

Like a great many others, I’ve taken comfort in the promises of peaceful rest and joyous reunion in situations of shared faith. We do not grieve as others grieve when we trust in those promises, when we hold fast to faith and feel the steady strength of the anchor of hope.

But we do grieve.

And are held in the love of The One who died for us… and them.