I planted my heels firmly into the ground and, with both my hands and my voice shaking, read a prayer to close my grandfather’s funeral service. With the wind blowing and tears falling and God watching, I held the prayer written weeks in advance in my hands, printed on a folded piece of paper, and gave the words back to the One who always knew the timeline.

By and large, we are a culture that is uncomfortable with grief—our own as well as the grief of others. I get it, grief is messy. But grief ...