By Kerri Havnen Gordon
Grief. No one in his right mind would ever choose to go through it. Losing someone you love, after all, is about as painful as life gets. Misery, anguish, loneliness, fear and regret are all hallmarks of grieving, but there is something else that I’ve noticed over the years. Grief can be beautiful, exquisitely beautiful.
When the pope died, I was deeply moved not only by the passing of a truly great man and humanitarian, but also by the expressions of grief by mourners throughout the world. There was such beauty in it, such humility and purity. In every picture of a mourner, every video clip, what I saw above all else was love.
Their faces were filled with it. In one unforgettable photo, a young woman stood in St. Peter’s Square looking toward the pope’s third floor apartment windows. She had tears streaming down her anguished face. A nun stood next to her, embracing her and looking upon her face with heartrending maternal benevolence. Certainly the nun was grieving, too, yet she was focused on comforting the young woman. It was an undeniably beautiful image.
When grief steps in, so does love. It replaces the petty concerns of daily life and nudges us to realize with crystal clarity that love is what is most important. Mothers and fathers, children, friends, relationships, and for many among us, faith - these, we find, are what we value the most.
In the song “Angel,” Sarah McLachlan sings, “… this sweet madness, oh this glorious sadness, that brings me to my knees.” These words come to mind whenever I think about grieving, because to feel so deeply is a blessing.
However painful, it is a beautiful experience for the spirit. It would be far worse to go through life emotionally monotone, devoid of passion or a grasp that life is precious, or without that “glorious sadness” one feels in grief.
And as they say, misery loves company, as evidenced by the throngs of people who descended upon Rome to express sorrow for the pope. Faith brought them there, but so did the draw of communal mourning. Aside from honoring an incredible life, people were united in a rare way that had nothing to do with avarice, hatred, politics or even religion. In these days of war, vast political and ideological divisions and rampant materialism, a great man of peace and reconciliation died. One didn’t have to be Catholic, or even Christian for that matter, to feel deeply about the passing of John Paul II.
And so it was that we witnessed this particularly historic passing of a pope and an unprecedented display of public mourning. Some were moved by his unbending faith, his tireless efforts to promote peace, his upbringing in war-torn Poland, or by the unfailing dignity he displayed despite his physical suffering. Once gathered, the mourners in Rome drew comfort from one another, and we were touched by observing them. All of it was beautiful.
Beautiful, but in its full-bloom glory and when it is closer to home, there is no denying that grief can be a consuming, messy, torturous, sometimes years-long process. Eventually, though, one emerges from it, and with this emergence creep the commonplace minor annoyances of life. An undelivered newspaper, a child’s messy bedroom, the line at the post office, these are the things that characterize daily life.
It is simply too exhausting to live every moment with the depth of feeling one experiences while mourning. In its place, we hope to carry in our back pocket a daily and palpable sense of the interconnectedness of loss and love.
