"You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,"
I no longer seek to overcome grief but instead, to grieve better. In the six heavy, somehow fleeting and gradual, years since my father died, I’ve stepped into seasons of deep sorrow and deep joy. There is much I am eager to learn from grief. Too long was I oppressed by its sheer weight. Now I am determined to be a student of it.
Grief is my inspiration, my nudge on the shoulder to swim deeper and laugh harder and linger longer. The space it has carved out ushers in an urgency for taking each thought and moment captive; giving the commonplace a seat among the sacred. Allowing grief to swell, to move and grow and expand, without demanding control means allowing myself the foreign lightness of happiness. An attempt to allow joy (undecided on, unprompted) to exist and maybe even to let it change me.
Today mourning to dancing looks like waking up next to my best friend in Delaware, getting coffees, and taking a road trip. A simple, bold act of joy.
An attempt to grieve better.