The Paradox of Grief and Joy

I recently wrote to a friend of mine who also has experienced deep loss in her life.  Three years ago, her dad was killed in a collision.  He was biking on a country road outside the city and a negligent driver hit and killed him.  My friend was completely devastated by her dad's death and remained that way for some time.  In the past year or so, I have seen a change in her.  She has allowed the sadness and bitterness to melt away, and developed a vigor for life, a hunger for joy and an ability to savor life intensely. She has found ways to challenge yourself, and she has an amazing drive in her. I admire these qualities of her character.  I wrote her to ask how and when she was able to feel joy again, and when that did happen, how was she able to fight the guilt in feeling joy after such loss.  She wrote and talked about giving oneself permission to feel whatever it is we are feeling, to be patient with ourself, and to be intentional in our healing.  The following is part of my response to her, including some new experiences of joy in my heart...

Thank you so much for the wonderful response you gave me in my questions about grief and joy and healing from big loss.  It feels so good to hear from you, who've been through deep loss, that I have permission to grieve AND to feel joy. I have been living in both these days, and what a strange paradox it is.

The other night I think I felt joy, true and pure joy, deep down and settling, for the first time since our son died. It was no momentous occasion, no height or achievement or delivery of good news that brought on my joy. It was just one of life's simple moments, peaceful and satisfying to my soul. I would like to explain it.

As you can imagine, I've been way too busy these days with teaching and helping Ghaith to run our food cart business and manage things at home... oh, and not to forget the difficult but essential work of healing my heart from our loss. At the end of my long days, what I want most is to sit with my husband, close and cuddled, and just be. Maybe read a book, journal, watch a movie, whatever. He rarely gives me that, what with his parents in our home and his mind almost constantly in business management mode. He comes home most nights with no energy left for me and he crashes. Well the other night when he got home, he didn't crash. He sat with me and we talked and drank wine and dreamed out loud together. And I felt good. Deep down, I felt rested and settled and happy, and for whatever reasons, my happiness in that sweet moment was not immediately followed by pain, or bitterness, or regret, or even guilt over being happy. I took notice of the contentment in my heart, and I mentioned it to Ghaith. It was a familiar and welcome feeling, but one that's been so far away from my experiences in daily living for so long. And then I realized why I was able to feel that happiness so deeply, and from that deep place came the tears. It's because I have come to accept that our sweet boy is not here with us. I've finally learned how to love and accept him the way he is; fully our son and fully not here with us. I have learned how to love him from afar, knowing that I will never know him in this life, and simultaneously believe that he is with me always.

So, joy has snuck its way back into my being, and I have welcomed it's subtle yet significant arrival.

With love,
Tiffany