You are more than your sorrow

Joe and I spent all of yesterday together. I'm sending him back to work, half days, so he can start to move forward. We ran a bunch of errands, Rachel in tow. Filled up the car with gas, went to ToysRUs because of my strong urge to spoil the kids for Chanukah. Picked up a few staples at Trader Joe's.

We ended up lunching at our favorite Indian buffet. We've become wise with our handling of kids in restaurants; quick service and a portable DVD player are key. The TV is something I probably would have scorned at, pre-kids. And now I realize affords us the ability of those 15 extra minutes to actually enjoy what we're eating.

The place was bustling through the lunch hour, but we were seated right away. I was pleased to see a huge diversity among the people dining together. Besides a rainbow of skin colors and languages being spoken, there was a table of Army folks in fatigues. It made me pause for a second, being so close to Veteran's Day. I wondered if they were on their way out to deployment. I wondered what they had seen.

As I've been thinking about my own grief, in turn I've been trying to put it in perspective with other people's loss and experiences. In the end, it's really about the fear of our own mortality. Each time we lose someone, it reminds us that we are fragile, too. It's something I've faced many times in the past few years. My dad having a heart attack. My very young cousin having a stroke. My husband in a near-fatal car accident. And now losing Sarah.


I don't want to be a sad person. I don't want to be the one everyone tiptoes around. Yes, I'll probably burst into tears for some random reason that doesn't make any sense. But I'll do my best to be present and continue on this up and down journey, because it turns out that mentally checking out is just as harmful.

"Suffering is not enough. Life is both dreadful and wonderful...How can I smile when I am filled with so much sorrow? It is natural--you need to smile to your sorrow because you are more than your sorrow."

~Thich Nhat Hanh

(And your proof that Good Things Still Happen: the guy at the table behind us quietly paid for the bill of the Army folks.)