Grief and Joy can coexist

We spend so much of our lives trying to sort our emotions into neat little boxes.
This one is good. That one is bad.
Joy belongs here. Grief belongs there.

The truth is: they can exist together.

You can be deeply grateful for the life you have and still ache for what’s been lost.
You can love your life and still long for something different.
You can laugh while you cry, and both are real.

I’ve heard the same message again and again this week:
Grief and joy can exist at the same time.

And it reminded me of one of the hardest and most beautiful experiences of my life: losing my grandmother to Alzheimer’s Disease.

I was living in New Hampshire, about six hours from home, when she was diagnosed.

One Thanksgiving, she arrived at my aunt’s house and had no idea who I was. In fact, the sight of me frightened her.

I walked away and went into the library and cried. I worried I had let her down by not being around enough for her to remember me.

My beautiful cousin came to comfort me, saying softly, “I see her every day, and lots of days she doesn’t know who I am.” Sarah made such an impact in my existence in that one sentence. She changed the way I looked at the disease that was taking my Grandmom and how my physical distance had no impact on her awareness.

The last time I saw my grandmother, she wasn’t afraid of me. She knew I was someone she loved, even if she couldn’t quite place me. (I had always been “Cindi, Kathy, Jennifer” to her, and after my cousin was born, I became “Cindi, Kathy, Sarah Jennifer.” So I guess I was the last one she expected to see. This was usually something I laughed about, that she just had so many girls it was tough to keep us straight.)

We sat together in the common room of her care facility. I told her stories from my childhood, memories I had with her.

I talked about swimming in her pool, dinners on the back porch, games of Monopoly and Battleship.

She listened with a soft smile and asked me, “Are you happy?”

I was.

I knew it might be the last time I saw her, and I wanted her to know how much I loved my childhood with her, how much she meant to me.

As sad as I was that she didn’t really know me, I realized I was sharing my joy with her. And when I stood to leave, one of the caretakers thanked me for all the stories I had told. I hadn’t realized that twenty or so other residents in the room had been listening too.

Through my grief over saying goodbye to my grandmother, I was sharing joy with everyone around me.

That’s what this message means to me: when we allow love and light to come in, we become gentler with ourselves as we move through the stages of grief.

We don’t have to wait for one emotion to fade before another can arrive.
We can feel loss and love at the same time.
We can hold grief and joy in the same breath.

You don’t have to rush through your sadness to get back to happiness, and you don’t have to quiet your laughter because you’re missing someone.

Being human means we get to hold it all.

So if you find yourself smiling through tears or feeling grateful in the middle of heartbreak, know this — you’re not broken. You’re expanding your capacity to love.

Take a quiet moment today to breathe and ask yourself:
Where are you holding both grief and joy right now?

If you’re ready to move through those seasons with more grace and presence, I can help you do that.
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