The other day I looked up at the full moon shining behind the huge maple tree in our backyard, and I was simultaneously awash in feelings of awe over its beauty and in melancholy. I had a similar experience the other weekend, walking around a lake in the sunshine with friends – a beautiful day, their joyful dog accompanying us who was delighted to be able to take a spring swim in the water… feelings of both contentment and melancholy were both so strong. Part of my being changed by grief, by my experiences of loss, is that I no longer have the ability to focus singularly on the good/beauty/joy that surround me.
I’m not really upset by this, though. Life is – complicated. Life is hard, and beautiful, and soul-crushing, and awe-inspiring, and ugly, and overwhelming. I used to assume that everything would work out – I was naïve. Now that I have experienced the utter devastation of losing those who had anchored themselves to the most tender parts of my heart – I cannot go back.
I took the dogs on a walk today, honestly laughing out loud at their antics. I felt true satisfaction after spending time over the last few weeks cleaning up the yard debris in the backyard, and seeing how much better it looked when I was done. I was excited after getting my first covid vaccination. I can feel those things, I can participate in life’s beauty, while simultaneously still feeling connected to my grief. If anything, these simultaneous states of being, the ability to be open to it all together makes me feel closer to the true human condition than ever before.
I’d give this all back to have Sara and/or George here with me in a heartbeat, but that’s not an option – so here I am. Melancholy suits me.