I surrender it to god, knowing that the pain itself is a product or a reflection of how i am interpreting whatever it is that is causing me pain. some pain is simply the normal grief of human existence. that is pain that i try to make room for. i honor my grief. i try to be kinder to myself. i give myself time to move through and to process whatever is making me sad.
And i know you've spent a lifetime trying to protect me from the staggering pain of grief that comes from losing the things and the people and the places you allowed yourself to care about--but guess what, jennika--that's no way to live. as much as it hurts to lose something you love, there's much greater joy in getting to experience it for as long as it lasts.
What is it that strikes a spark of humor from a man? It is the effort to throw off, to fight back the burden of grief that is laid on each one of us. In youth we don't feel it, but as we grow to manhood we find the burden on our shoulders. Humor? It is nature's effort to harmonize conditions. The further the pendulum swings out over woe the further it is bound to swing back over mirth.
I have discovered, passionate grief does not link us with the dead but cuts us off from them. this becomes clearer and clearer. it is just at those moments when i feel least sorrow - getting into my morning bath is usually one of them - that h. rushes upon my mind in her full reality, her otherness. not, as in my worst moments, all foreshortened and patheticized and solemnized by my miseries, but as she is in her own right. this is good and tonic.
You don't get rich, you don't often have much fun. Sometimes you get beaten up or shot at or tossed into the jail house. Once in a long while you get dead. Every other month you decide to give it up and find some sensible occupation while you can still walk without shaking your head. Then the door buzzer rings and you open the inner door to the waiting room and there stands a new face with a new problem, a new load of grief, and a small piece of money.