How Grief can Coexist with Joy

Give the Tears their Airtime

Back in April, just a few weeks after Zoe died, I was walking through New York City and became overcome with emotion. I stopped on Broadway, near Macy’s, took out my phone, and voice-dictated what I was experiencing. Today I’m posting it as an example of something I encourage my therapy clients to do: give the tears their airtime and let them lead the way toward some kind of resolution. The moment of acute sorrow will pass if you allow the feelings to be. Of course, what kind of resolution depends on your mental state and the source of the sadness. I’m not suggesting that expressing grief cures grief. But so many of us are taught to “power through,” “don’t dwell,” “look on the bright side,” and my personal favorite, “God never gives you anything you can’t handle.” (I could write a whole post on that one). But here’s the thing: if you silence your anger, pain, or fear, it will stay with you and grow more entrenched. I learned that in my years of social work and psychotherapy training. I’ve seen it play out countless times with my clients. Ignore a feeling and it will take over. On the other hand, when you notice the feeling, let it speak, give it the space it needs, the sharpness eases. It becomes possible to proceed with your day, and even find those moments of peace and joy that make life beautiful.

Now, you know I’m no Pollyanna. You are hearing this from chronic overthinker who also happens to be a bereaved mother. I am forever heartbroken. But my life is far more than my grief. I still have fun, joy, laughter, wonder, creativity—all the good stuff. It’s still there. And when the sorrow hits me, and it hits me frequently, I respect it. I cry. I sometimes rant and wail—that I can’t believe Zoe is gone, that it’s unfair that I get no more Zoe; the laments go on and on—and then I move on to the next activity.

Certain things help. Talking about Zoe with others who loved her, with people who never met her (to spread the Zoe around, to keep her memory fresh), watching videos of her, poring over her artwork. But the important thing is to embrace the feeling of loss and to know it won’t do me in.

April, 2025

On this day, the first that has truly felt like April and not November, I am in a touristy part of the city, walking downtown for a massage. Yes, you can get a massage in New Jersey, but this one promises to be unique. Since Zoe died, her father, my husband Jon, has been on an aggressive mission to seize the day, to immerse himself in small joys and out-of-the-box experiences. He has discovered a very special masseur, with an apparently magic touch, due in part to the fact that this practitioner is totally blind. Inspired by Jon’s contagious new joie-de-vivre, I signed myself up.

And that brings me back to this glorious spring day in New York City. There is the customary litter all over the streets, but tulips, daffodils, phlox, and pansies hail from every giant planter along Broadway. Bright shards of sunlight pierce spaces between skyscrapers. Trees are covered in pale green tufts and early blossoms: cherry, pear, magnolia. It is the best sort of spring day this city has to offer. The streets are full of tourists, working people, and others—some unhoused, some panhandling, but all with a patina of hope in their eyes. I look at each face, each couple, each group, and recognize all these humans as affirmatively, uncompromisingly outdoors, partaking of life, of this day—whether they seize it or ease into it or take it for granted. This day belongs to them all. It belongs to me.

I make eye contact with a pigeon, remembering how much Zoe loved pigeons, how she stood up for the birds so often disparaged as “winged rats.” How she loved pigeons for their intelligence, resilience, and reputation for companionship. This creature is city-white—meaning gray—with black spots. She tilts her head from side to side, regarding me. I give her a nod and a knowing smile, imagining that this pigeon is my girl reincarnated, or at least her emissary. But now my eyes grow hot; my heart protests, demanding of the universe: is this all I get of her now? A passing glance from a spotted gutter bird? Why is the real Zoe—as her full self—deprived of this day that everyone else gets to enjoy? Why am I deprived of her? The injustice of it feels like an assault. The pigeon pecks at some debris near my feet and moves on. I stand still, resenting the clueless, casual passers-by as they bump around me.

My sunglasses are dark and protective. There are tissues in my handbag. Discreetly, I allow the tears of fury to flow. When they’ve passed, my eyes dry, I blow my nose and follow the pedestrian current downtown. My heart does a little leap when I remember where I am headed. I quicken my pace, eager for this magic massage.

Wishing you moments of clarity and joy this week.

Lisa

And P.S. The massage was absolutely amazing. Like nothing I’ve experienced. I highly recommend seeking out the healing touch of EM Wellness Massage