Joy is awesome, but.....

*I started writing this about a week ago and am just now getting back to finish it.*

The juxtaposition of true joy and horrible grief can feel very bizarre, but it is also starting to feel...normal. I mean, it is my new  normal, but I am starting to feel sort of comfortable in this place.

I have had several really wonderful experiences recently. I got to have a long-awaited trip to the coast with my mom and my sister. My two daughters spent part of one day with us. That whole time was a wonderful, joyous blessing. I was home for three days, and then went to see some dear friends a day's drive to the south, a visit that included another couple of days of "ocean therapy." It was a truly wonderful time. Two days ago, I got to go on a really special day-trip with three very dear friends. We had a really precious time together. The weather was glorious, the scenery stunning, and the time spent together was a true blessing.

In the course of these wonderful experiences, I felt refreshed and loved and...happy. For the first time since that awful day in June, I felt like myself. I smiled and laughed freely and joyously. It felt so good.

I know that for the people who know me and care about me, it is a tremendous relief to see me happy; to know that I am feeling refreshed, and having joy.

But here's the thing.....

The fact that I have had fun, and have felt joy...does not fix my grief.

The joy does not wipe away my profound sadness. It's not one-or-the-other.

The joy and the grief exist side by side.

For nearly four months, the profound sadness has dominated. There have been small, quiet bits of gladness, but the grief has towered over them.

All that has happened, with the wonderful, happy times in the past few weeks, is that the joy part of my life got a serious boost; the balance became less wildly uneven than it has been.

It's not that having fun times suddenly, somehow makes me all better.

This grief will never go away. It cannot be displaced or replaced by another experience, no matter how deeply joyful. The deep well of sadness will always be with me now, for the rest of my life. It will not always dominate, but it will never actually go away. It will exist alongside every other experience that I have. This is part of the bizarre, and sometimes jarring, nature of grief.  I can be walking on the beach on a beautiful day with a dearly loved friend, totally enjoying the time and drinking in the restful joy...while talking about the gut-deep agony of Michael's suicide. For me, the beauty of the moment does not lessen the pain, but also, the reality of my grief does not rob the moment of its beauty.

Restful days, beautiful scenery, time with people who are precious to me...while these things cannot lift away my pain, in a way I treasure them more deeply than ever before. It's sort of like taking a beautiful jewel and setting it against black velvet. The depth of the darkness behind makes the jewel shine more brightly, enhances the glitter of its facets, intensifies its color, and draws your attention to its beauty.

I will go on being very, very sad for a very, very long time. 

In the midst of this long, wearisome journey of pain, I am more grateful than ever for those moments of love, friendship, relaxation and beauty. I am grateful for the gift, because it is a gift, of genuine  laughter.

I am so grateful for the merciful gift of joy.