Happiness in a Minor Key

I no longer count the days, weeks and months I have navigated alone, nor how many more I might reasonably expect to have to manage until I can finally rest – one hopes in peace. Believe me in those early days, when I had walked – crawled – less than 1% of my imagined distance, the sense of dauntedness was overwhelming. So yes, now I can appreciate daffodils and tulips blooming in my garden, the birds singing in the woods (I’ve just downloaded an app which can tell me who I’m listening to – marvellous!). I can take pleasure from a night in alone with the dog and not go to bed weeping into my pillow.

Bearing witness

But if someone were to say, “Are you over the grief, now”, my answer would have to be no, nor will I ever be. We want our friends who struggle with whatever distress it is, to ‘be better’; we’d love if we could be an agent of that comfort – why after all am I writing this blog? But I want to stand for holding the pain with love, for bearing witness to another’s suffering, for meeting them where they are and validating them, however they may feel, and for not rushing to make it better because we ourselves are uncomfortable with their distress.

“Getting over” grief

I think we don’t ‘get over’ profound loss; we don’t ‘move on’ as if that means leaving loved ones behind. To expect that is almost cruel. It reminds me of things people used to say a generation or two ago – which I sincerely hope are no longer dished out today. Like to a young son when the father of the family has died, “You’re the man of the house now”; and to the daughter , “Be a good girl and don’t go upsetting your mother by crying”. Where does all that grief go? It cannot disappear but does, I think, stay within the family system – but that’s another blog.

“Holding them back”

For me I bring the ones I love with me. I talk to them, I tell them I love them. Far from “Holding them back” – another cruel concept in my book – it has kept my heart open, just a chink, even while it is breaking and even while most of the time I had wanted to be a recluse in dark loneliness. Gradually I found the resilience and courage to leave the ‘safety’ of that reclusiveness – sometimes. The little chink of openness allowed love back in, the love of flowers, of the river and of friends but it also allowed my love to reach back out and meet others until life began to expand around me.

Beautiful cracks

There is a Japanese art form called kintsugi. When a pot is broken it is mended with Japanese lacquer and painted over with gold and it becomes even more beautiful than before. There are some lines from the Sufi poet and mystic Rumi which say, “the cracks in your heart are where the light shines through”. Both are saying the same thing. As you are now is built upon the experiences you have been through; your heart has broken, you are not as you were and that does not preclude beauty; in fact even more beauty is possible – not least since we know now how precious and temporary is existence.

Minor Key

So for me, in answer to the question am I happy again, I would say, yes, there are times when I am happy, but I will not know again the unabashed cheerfulness of music in a major key. My happiness comes now in a minor key, tempered by the poignancy of loss, mellowed by longing and love that no longer has a physical presence to give itself to. There is nothing wrong with that- it might not be easy, but beauty and love and happiness no long have to exist only in memory

With love

Nickie

PS My Instagram account livelovegrieve, is now up and running – in a manner of speaking, even though I managed to lock myself out of it on my laptop and lock myself out of my personal account on my phone at the same time. Clever. That I manage anything techi is a virtual miracle!