In October of my senior year of college, my mom was in the hospital with pneumonia. But somehow, I knew it wasn't just pneumonia. And yet even suspecting something more didn't prepare me for her cancer. She died fifteen months later.

Death is an unalterable fact of life, but for most of us, it's something we try not to think about. It happens to other people and other people's families. We definitely don't expect to deal with it during our college years. Parents are supposed to be around for all the major events in life.

As a society, we don't handle death well. We try to stay upbeat when we visit dying patients in the hospital. Children are sheltered from death, and many people today may not attend a funeral before they are in college. Before my grandfather died when I was sixteen, the only funeral I had ever attended was for our goldfish. We're at a loss when death does occur: What will we feel? How do we care for grieving friends? What do we say?

There are stages of grief in any crisis. And those stages tend to follow a pattern. Right after my parents told me about my mom's diagnosis, I went into emotional denial. When people asked me how my mom was doing, I told them only facts. When they expressed sympathy or concern, I pulled back. I was afraid that if I allowed myself to feel the pain, I wouldn't be able to cope.

Denial is a two-edged sword. For a time, it provides a way to let things sink in more slowly. People take sideways glances at situations that are too hard to look at straight on. But long-term denial can isolate people.

My mom was in denial during most of her illness. A couple weeks after she was diagnosed, she told one of my sisters that there had been a mistake. At first, I thought that was cruel, but looking back, I think it was my mom's way of saying, "I'm not ready to die. If none of us believes it then it won't be true." Later, she kept telling us her doctor said that smoking did not cause lung cancer and insisted that she was doing better when, in reality, the opposite was true.

We went along with her, but as a result everyone ended up being isolated. You can't talk about something that everyone is ignoring without making everyone angry. As a result, I never had the significant conversations that I wish I could have had with her.

Anger is another problem that arises both before and after death. Sometimes I was angry at my mom for smoking, or for her not going to the doctor sooner, or at the first doctor who hadn't caught the cancer. I got irritated whenever someone said, "I know how you must feel." I was also angry at the expectations that family put on me that made me feel like I had to be the strong one. And to top it off, I was angry at myself for not handling it all better somehow.

In addition to denial and anger, guilt is often part of crisis situations. I felt guilty for trying to put mom's illness out of my mind for any length of time. I also felt guilty for not living up to expectations other people had of me and for feeling like the whole illness was an interruption of life.

Guilt is good when it is a check on our behavior, but we don't need to feel guilty for how we feel. It was okay for me to forget about everything for a time and it was even okay for me to be happy at times.

After I graduated (in the midst of my mom's illness), I came on staff with InterVarsity. Relatives suggested that I should move home and take care of my mom. For some people, that might have been a good choice, but I was beginning to struggle with depression. I knew that I wouldn't be able to handle the situation emotionally if I were to move home. I compromised by going home most weekends. Throughout the rest of her illness and after her death, I learned some things about coping with crisis and grief.

• It's okay to take care of yourself. In a crisis, you may have to make some adjustments, but only you really know what you can or can't handle. Taking care of yourself doesn't necessarily mean you're being selfish. In the long run, I was probably more helpful on those weekend visits than if I had moved back home.

  Illness and death are interruptions of life. It was normal for me to get frustrated when plans had to change suddenly. More than being frustrated with my mom, I was frustrated with the uncertainty of life during that time. I half-way joked about not being able to plan more than a day in advance.

• No matter what feelings may erupt, let them come. Sure, I'd much rather go around than go through something hard. But grief is something you have to go through. You have to believe that it will stop hurting eventually.

• Find someone to talk to. I didn't confide in anyone until right before my mom died. That's one of the reasons I ended up with stomach problems at that time. One day my mom had an allergic reaction to some medication. Her whole body blistered like that of a burn patient. After I visited her, I internalized the horror, and threw up every time I ate for four days. How different it would have been if I'd had someone to talk to!

• Be gentle with yourself. The day after the funeral, I sat down to write a staff newsletter. I couldn't get the words out. I yelled at myself for a while. In frustration, I finally called my supervisor and asked if I could take the day off. Shocked that I was even attempting to work, he explained that he hadn't expected me to jump back into things so quickly. Allow yourself the grace that others give you.

  Illness and death are major life stresses. You may be more tired than usual for awhile or have trouble sleeping. You'll find that little things trigger that stress along with memories and feelings. A movie, a visit to a nursing home, or a meal at the person's favorite restaurant throw you for a loop. That's normal. Don't get down on yourself for not getting over it quickly. We may never fully get over losing someone.

• Give grace to others. Recently, I was watching a movie with a friend and one of her acquaintances. In the movie, a woman was dying. Her father had come to be with her until her husband could arrive, but left when the husband showed up. His ailing daughter hadn't recognized him. My friend's acquaintance criticized the father's decision to leave. I held my tongue. This woman didn't realize that I, too, had left my mom's side to go to some meetings, or that my mom hadn't recognized me either. I doubt that this person would have been so critical if she had known my situation.

• Do something to remember. My mom died on New Year's Day, so the holidays always leave me feeling melancholy. She always baked apple pie at this time of year, and so for the last couple of years I've started baking a pie then too. They aren't as good as my mom's, but it is a treat for me and a way of remembering some of the good things about her.

My mom's death was a dry time for me spiritually. Denial, anger and guilt marked my relationship with God. While I wouldn't admit it, I was just going through the motions in my spiritual walk, and I was keeping God at bay. That fed my feelings of depression and anxiety even more. I had to pray that God would make me willing to talk to him about everything that was going on.

As I look back, I can see the hand of God holding me up during my mom's illness and death. I can see the way God met me through friends, a flexible job, and the prayers of caring people. One friend told me that God doesn't change what has happened, but he does redeem the pain. At the time, I didn't like that. I would rather have had a way to get rid of the pain. But every time something in my experience helps me understand or comfort someone else, some of that pain is redeemed. And where there is great pain, God provides a way for great redemption.