There is a space between grief and joy

A line. 
When you stand there the joy and love of the relationship flourishes and the loss feeling like the hole it is, seems to be both full and empty all at once. The void exists but the love fills it. 
Or maybe more accurately it flows through it. 
And in that moment, in that space, there is this heartfullness even in the midst of the sadness. 

This last Monday on December 4th, I lost two people in a 1 hour span. 
My mother in law and one of my dearest friends both left their bodies for whatever comes in the after. 
Both had cancer. 
Both fought different battles. 
And both left behind their own wake of sorrow. 

In the aftermath, I’ve had my own process. And much of that has included supporting my husband through the details of death. The dismantling of a life and the bureaucratic shenanigans that come with it. 

But this morning I had my own time. I went for a walk in the cold. 
I came home and did a mindful exercise class that included yelling and dancing and crying too. 
And I felt myself straddle that line between grief and joy. 
And I wanted to tell you about it. 

As I moved my body my heart swelled with the profound gratitude I have for the time I did have with my friend (Her name is Sarah). For the laughter and tears. The adventures. The lessons. The way she could manifest things and believed so whole heartedly in her goals she continued forward even when it was hard or seemed impossible. 
The way she was so damn pragmatic and yet used that way of being to fuel her adventures with meticulous plans.
The way we were able to talk about her sickness, her fears, her impending death. 
In our last conversation on the morning she died, she said “Who knew it would be so delightful to have everyone here”, referring to her loved ones in the house with her, and something about that just felt so Sarah. 

This woman who I called my friend for 18 years is no longer here, and yet she is too.
She is here in the phrases I’ve stolen from her over the years, in the way I’m careful not to nod my head too much when I’m listening (we had to watch tapes of ourselves doing therapy in grad school lol), in the strength of my sobriety (she was a steadfast support for me in the early years), in the contact paper she so lovingly installed in my pantry when we bought our house, in the amazing humans she birthed and raised who are now bringing their gifts into the world and in thousands of tiny other ways too. 

Sarah will always be here with me. And as sad as I am to not be able to pick up the phone and call her, or send her one of our many texts, I can also feel the way she is woven into who I am. 

If you have lost someone you love. If you are here at this holiday season, in the cold and dark time of year, and feeling that loss and absence, my wish for you, is that you discover that line. That you can step into that space between joy and grief and let the energy of that joy funnel through your tender heart. 
We are miraculous creatures. 
We can smile and cry at the same time. 
Your grief does not need to blot out your joy. It will sometimes. But it too flows. 
Winding in and out in the dance of love. 

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