Coexistence

It is possible to experience sadness and joy, even at the same time

Over the years I have discovered the peril of black-and-white thinking. You know the thought pattern I’m talking about: [particular issue] is either right or wrong, another person in our life is either friend or enemy, we are either depressed or elated. The truth of the matter is that life is not as clear as we might want it to be. Issues are nuanced, people have more than one “side,” our emotions are often part one thing and another at the same time.

One of my good friends in the Twin Cities emailed yesterday, recommending a book she has been reading, Theo of Golden. She included a couple of quotes, including this one:

“Living with sadness, accepting it, is easier than trying to pretend it isn’t there. It is another of life’s great mysteries that sadness and joy can coexist so compatibly with one another. I wonder if, on this side of heaven, either one can be complete without the other.”

Her email arrived at the right time, because I had just returned home from lunch with my son who three days ago celebrated his 31st birthday and his two little ones, ages 2-1/2 and four months. They are my two youngest grandchildren, and they lift my heart with joy when I look into their faces and see the best features of their father and their mother. My granddaughter prayed for us, thanking God for our time together, while her brother (already fifteen pounds at four months; his sister is 21 pounds at more than thrice his age) smiled happily and stared at the stranger who is his grandfather.

We had moments to speak of Claudia, conversations which always have elements of joy and sadness. Claudia and this son were especially close over the years, and that his birthday is five days before his mother’s death will always stay with him in a different sort of way.

I have discovered the wisdom of living with my sadness and not pretending it isn’t there. From the beginning of this journey a year ago, I have forced myself to be honest and allowed myself to open to others. Most days I have felt the pull to exist in denial or to retreat full-force into depression, but I have doggedly determined I will not and cannot do that. If for no other reason (and it’s a pretty good reason) it’s because I know it would be a big disappointment for my deceased wife. She would want me to miss her (which I do, every day), but she would want me to stretch forward in my life. Perhaps the best way I honor her is to rebuild my life and continue to grow. I believe that’s what should would be doing today if our roles were reversed, and that is what I would have wanted her to do as well.

I think it is true that grief after the loss of a loved one is never fully resolved, in the sense that our lives return to what they were before death intruded. It seems that I will always carry some sadness with me, even with time. Time does not heal all wounds, in my experience, but time does help to shift the load. In my first days of traumatic loss, the proportion was probably 95% sadness and 5% joy (as hard as it was to find). Gradually, day by day, the ratio self-adjusts, so that now a year later, it’s more like 20% sadness and 80% joy.

I say the grief load self-adjusts, but I mean that is only the result of diligent efforts on my part to be honest with myself, to appropriately share my vulnerabilities with others, to choose to move forward, to elect self-care over self-neglect. When I practice life-giving rhythms and maintain connection with others, the health flowing into my soul creates the possibility for intuitive, self-adjustments along the way.

It means that I can read something that brings tears to my eyes, and a few minutes later be chuckling with mirth. Neither pole of the experience dominates to the point of distraction or dis-ease (purposeful hyphen there).

Somehow, I find that if I do my part, Love always does more than her part to make this coexisting reality create enough energy to push me forward.