Grief over time
It wasn’t long after my brother died that I returned to therapy. Something in me knew that I was going to need some extra support through this loss. Boy, was I right.
Despite the haze of those heartbroken days, I remember my therapist saying to me early on that I wouldn’t get over my grief. Over time and with some work, she said, my grief would stop feeling so heavy that I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. It would shrink down to a size where it would no longer be unmanageable – that I’d be able to carry it with me wherever I went.
I’ll confess that this didn’t feel like good news. I mean, who in their right mind would choose grief as their sidekick? Who would choose to never not be sad? But, six years later, I know not only that she was right, but that grief has taught me something that we all need to learn. You see, sadness is not only the purview of the bereaved. Life is sad at times for all of us. Learning that we can be happy while still sad is one of the most important lessons of the human journey.
Being happy and grieving
While I have had many happy moments in the last six years, none have offered as direct an experience of the interconnection of joy and sorrow as my niece’s wedding. In countless ways – subtle and clear – she and her new husband incorporated my brother into their celebration. His absence was honored with an empty chair in his memory. The officiant mentioned how essential her husband had been as our family navigated the horrible week after my brother’s death. He was, in some way, included in each toast. He was never far from any of our hearts.
To say that I was sad that weekend doesn’t capture it. The way my grief rose again to its old, almost overwhelming levels stunned me. I was never far from tears for three whole days. Tears that my brother was missing this – my LORD he would have loved it. Tears that I was missing the chance to celebrate with him – my LORD we would have had a ball. Lots and lots of sorrowful tears.
Yet, many of my tears were tears of joy. Tears that this couple – who balance each other so well – found each other. Tears of gratitude that my niece’s new husband not only had the chance to know his father-in-law, but that he had walked with his wife through the hardest thing she’s ever navigated. Tears to witness the steady way she and her sister support one another. Tears to glimpse the friendships that surround her and her husband with so much love. There were even some tears of joy of my own as my sweet husband leapt up and pulled me onto the dance floor for the very first song.
Gladness and sadness are never separate
Would I have felt all of this joy if I weren’t so raw with heartache? I kind of don’t think so. Of course, I would have been happy. But my feelings for my niece and her husband surpassed happiness. Henri Nouwen’s words capture what I think I was experiencing: “gladness and sadness are never separate, … joy and sorrow really belong together, and … mourning and dancing are part of the same movement.“
Though I never doubted my therapist’s wisdom, for me this wedding was incontrovertible proof that if we don’t let ourselves fully feel the sorrows of life, we simply will not be able to fully experience its joys. Without one another, neither sorrow nor joy can touch our heart and soul. This is what I was feeling as I celebrated my niece and her husband’s wedding.
Mourning and celebrating can be the same dance
Though I hope it’s a very long time until life breaks your heart, if it does, I hope you can remember this. Even as it feels like the world is hurrying you along toward being “OK again,” take your time. Remember that you will be more contented, more fulfilled, and even more joyful if you allow your sorrow to take you where it will as it runs its course. As it does so, be confident that where it takes you will be filled with graces that you could never have received otherwise. Graces like the joy of dancing and mourning at the very same time. Perhaps, after all, they are the same dance
The yoga sutras teach us that we all fall prey to wanting life to be other than it is. We cling to the sweet moments – that we have or that we hope to have. We resist with all our might life’s painful moments. (See YS 2.7 and 2.8) If we can stay open and trust that all of life – the happy and the sorrowful – is part of our spiritual formation, we will save ourselves from (in Patanjali’s words) “suffering that can be avoided” (which is the suffering we cause ourselves by clinging and resisting). (See YS 2.16) When we stay open to it all, we are more able to dance – even while mourning.