AT THE REQUEST OF SADNESS
You’ve just heard a knock at the door. You get up, curious. You didn’t invite anyone over. You’ve still got a dish on the living room table from the pizza you had before bed last night. There’s a pile of dirty clothes in one spot patiently waiting to be a pile of dirty clothes in a different spot. But you go to the door nonetheless. You recognize the person on the other side; a tertiary friend. It’s Sadness, your Sadness.
They come in, say something with a deep sigh, and you can tell they have something on their mind they’ve been waiting to discuss. So you do what you do with all of the people who show up at your door with something on their mind, you take them to the kitchen table and offer them something to drink.
After a moment, you ask Sadness what’s on their mind. Sadness takes a big inhale…exhale, looks down at their hands, and open their mouth.
Now, you tell me: what do they say? Not only that, but what do you say back?
What is sadness asking of us? How do we engage with sadness and grief well? Our culture doesn’t really have great answers for these sorts of questions, or at least we don’t have a great shared vocabulary around them to help aid the conversation.
And for creatures that don’t know what to do with our sadness, we sure do experience a lot of it. At different times in our lives, we will all be disappointed, let down, abandoned, and forgotten– all of the things that cause varying levels of sadness and grief. But what if these feelings aren’t the opposite of our deepest joys, but their misunderstood companion?
When we feel deep adoration for the things in front of us and available, we experience an emotion people call such names as joy, jubilation, and delight. But sadness and grief happen when all of that cherishing and adoration is built up for a thing that we cannot express it onto. A lot of times sadness is just that: our adorations, our love speaking a new language we’re not use to. It’s joy with nowhere to go. It’s our heart reaching– but not grasping. It’s a sort of celebration or cherishing of the things which can no longer feel our celebration.
This can take so many forms. It comes in the memories of loved ones who have passed. It comes in the life we dreamed of building with someone who is no longer in it. It comes in the loss of a job or career we found so meaningful. All of these are our adorations that simply cannot be gifted to their subject.
So how do we commune with sadness? If we’re not supposed to neglect our sadness, how then do we meet with it well? One of the best tools I’ve found for meeting with sadness is to, for a moment, honor our adorations. If our heart is longing to cherish something that is no more, one of the best things we can do is to be honest…
…
“I did love having that job.”
“She and I did have some wonderful memories together.”
“I did dream of introducing my dad to his grandchildren.”
…
…and let it be cherished.
If we don’t allow these affections to be mourned, we may stop risking affection altogether. If we subconsciously teach our heart that its adorations don’t matter, we may end up without a whole lot of adorations at all.
You may know this already, but my dad passed away suddenly when I was fourteen. And grief like that isn’t really something you do and move on from. It’s something you do… and then you do again… and then you do again… over the rest of your life. When that grief comes up for me, one of the best ways I can respond is by calling one of my siblings, or my mom, and sharing some memories. We affirm each other’s affections for him…
…
“You really did love his goofy dancing, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, it sounds like you do wish you could ask him for some advice.”
“Dad truly was so proud of you.”
…
…and let it be cherished for a moment.
Now, I’d like to be clear: I’m not saying throw on some rose-colored glasses and indulge in thinking that says “What I had was so good and I’ll never have anything like that again.” That’s hopelessness. But I do think we need to allow the things that mattered to us to be able to be recognized even when their time has ended.
I’m not sure what this means for you. I’m not sure what sorts of sadness you’ve experienced in your life, or maybe even are in the midst of right now. And while it’s no silver bullet, and also not the only approach, I would encourage you to engage with it. Notice what you are longing to cherish but cannot, and acknowledge it. If you have a friend that comes to you with heartbreak, a broken dream, or a missed opportunity, maybe before trying to infuse a shot of “it’s all going to be ok,” or “no it’s actually better that it didn’t work out,”– gently, very gently, cherish what has been lost with them.
…
“I bet you were dreaming of your life with him.”
“It sounds like you really did think you were getting chosen for that job.”
“Your mom does sound like she was truly incredible.”
…
…and let it be cherished.
Our sadness is not our enemy.
Sadness can be the truly noble stewardship of our longings and desires, even the ones that cannot be fulfilled. It is our loves and adorations enduring. It sits with us, humbly asking to let what is lost be cherished.
