More on Joy

 In Margaret Renkl's wonderful editorial in the November 13th NYT she states," there is no cure for grief, but beauty and tenderness can walk alongside it." This really struck a chord last night when we discussed, at dinner before the theater, what do we do about all this grief as we catch the government flip over on  its axis? My friend's husband, whom we adore, even went so far as to say," I don't want to talk about politics." I get that. We are all in our "golden years" and the erosion of all our norms is terrifying. Many of us, me among them, are talking about politics too much.It is easy to say, this will not effect me, but it does and it will. How do you remain "happy" when people you know, some of whom are model citizens, are taken out of this country? Why do you think you are safe in your financial cocoon, when, perhaps, your medicare may be taken away and a non-scientist holds the cabinet position of health and human services, and one who is  ill-equipped to handle the next possible pandemic or oversee the numerous agencies under his jurisdiction.

I think the response is, you don't deny the grief, nor do you dwell on it 24/7, as I know I have done. There are no easy answers, nor is there the "proper" way to grieve--tears, anger, militant actions, denialism. Renkl says there is no cure, but to not allow the "braying winners to turn us into impotent shadows with stones forever lodged in our throats would be to let them win even more surely than they won at the ballot box last week."

What she says is we need to tap into joy, whatever that may be; we need to give ourselves a respite. I spent weekend last week with two of our grandchildren, going to the Museum of Natural History with our grandson and the theater with our grandaughter. They are warm and funny and filled me and my husband with great pleasure. I taught a pre-k class of poetry in my cousin's class, and the children were so charming and deligthful that I felt the sheer pleasure of the experience.  Our youngest grandson is starting to gaze at the world with his beautiful open eyes.

Renkl goes on to tell us that "For me, there will be more watchful stillness. More walks in the woods to watch the still heron standing one-legged in the shallows; to watch the still deer; waiting to see that I do them no harm; to linger in the stillness of the lake itself, a perfect mirror giving back to the sky." What Renkl wants, which is what I supopose we all want, "is to remind myself again and again not to wait for the world to give me a reason to sigh with relief. I will give myself respite. I will remember not to keep waiting for sweetness and rest to arrive on their own."

As my friend said last night, "How do I keep myself --all of us--from calcifying during this time of grief and the stress that goes with it?" I suppose we allow all the feelings to invade us at once. We hug the family and friends we love, and take in the JOY and SWEETNESS of having them in our lives to hug. This is surely not a solution, but it does offer a small moment of grace, which in itself is something. Beauty, tenderness and grief can all live inside of us, as well as the blessings we have in one another.