How to Live with Sorrow and Troubled Water

Dear Jessica Brennan,

In life, we are sometimes sought out by sorrow surrounding us and hanging heavy, crushing our entire world.

With sorrow comes the worst kind of misery and loss, and many times, it sneaks up, quietly arriving as the result of a shocking single crisis or tide of unpredictable events. When it’s upon you, you can’t just decide to crawl out from underneath the weight of it, and you can’t get over it by simply sucking it up. Sorrow is more profound and more meaningful than that. It needs to have its say.

Sorrow is mighty because it is the opposite of joy; to understand it, you must have felt joy completely. It is an extreme emotion. Sorrow is like a dark, cold lake. It is lonely and fills every pore. You can swim, but do you want to?

Many years ago, I wrote, “Those who have the most to love, have the most to one day lose,” this line represents the mechanics of sorrow to me. You do not get joy without sorrow or sorrow without joy. One is the antithesis of the other.

The anatomy of sorrow, though, has another element: the ability to attract love. When we are in sorrow, love comes to us in every possible way. The public expression of cards, flowers and trays of lasagna, sure, but also in quiet, respectful ways that recognize the purpose that the weight of sorrow plays in healing. Sometimes, leaving someone alone to privately thrash through their pain can be the most generous form of kindness. Doing nothing for a friend can, in fact, be a massive act of friendship. Sitting and silently crying with them can be a gift. Sometimes, we weep for them when they go beyond their ability to cry for themselves. We give our tears in an attempt to wash away their sadness. In these moments, life becomes clear and in sharp focus. Dearly loving someone is all that matters in the world.  

Eventually, light seeps in over time, riding on those vapours of joy left behind by the one we lost, and comes back to match and overpower the sorrow. We make peace with the eternal ache of our loss and slowly wade out of the cold lake to feel the sun on our faces again. 

This journey back is different for everyone, but some beautiful voices singing “I’m sailing right behind” can start us down the path. 

Love,

Mum

xo