The Year of Joy & Grief

On February 10, 2001, I set off on an adventure, on a year that would change my life entirely. That day marked the beginning of the year that has forever since served as the dividing line of my life  – the “before and after” demarcation of who I was and who I came to be. After the fact, I would tell others that it was both the absolute best year of my life up to that point and the absolute worst year of my life, all at the same time. It was the year in which I experienced the heights of my greatest joy, success, happiness, and love. Spending a year living and working abroad, far from home, away from family and friends, I experienced true independence, freedom, and an understanding of who I really was and wanted to be. At 23 years old, it was the year in which I first glimpsed the potential of all I held within me. And, with the sudden death of my sister, Cathy, it was the year I was thrown into the deepest, darkest abyss of sadness, loss, hopelessness, loneliness, and grief. 

And sometimes I’m left wondering: was, perhaps, the immense joy I felt that year only possible, only as deep as it was, because I felt it alongside the darkest possible end of the spectrum of feelings? Was it only because I felt the depths of grief that I was able to fully understand, accept, and appreciate the magnitude of my joy in contrast?

For twenty years now, I’ve been reflecting on all the ways I changed in that year; how, because of all that happened that year, the entire trajectory of my life was altered. For just as long, I have been attempting to understand and integrate those changes through writing. Writing has always been the way I process my feelings, organize my thoughts, articulate all that is swirling around inside my mind and heart. Whether in a journal entry, an email or letter to a friend, an essay, or a blog post that never was published, writing has been my clearest, most treasured tool for sifting through the feelings I’ve so often pushed away, afraid to say them out loud for fear of how they might sound or how they could crush me if allowed out in the open. In writing, I can see my feelings spelled out in front of me, and they somehow become less overwhelming, more manageable. I have also discovered, over the years, that sometimes those words are actually able to help others understand their own struggles and feelings.

So as I mark this anniversary in my life, this milestone of one of the biggest steps I have taken alongside enduring life’s greatest blow, I feel compelled to finally do what I’ve always felt driven to: to write about it. I’m not exactly sure where this journey in words will take me. I have some ideas. I’d like to explore the adventure I set out on: how it shaped me and prepared me for what was ahead. I’d also like to delve into the questions that have plagued me since I first plunged into that abyss of loss twenty years ago.  

I’m inviting you along on this journey. I can’t make any promises, but I’m hoping by starting with this post – and actually publishing it – I’ll hold myself accountable to stick with writing. Perhaps something I share in this exploration will be of use to you. I’ve always believed that when we are honest about our own pain, we give others the permission to be honest about theirs. I hope that something I write will resonate, perhaps giving you the courage to delve deeper into feelings you’ve been struggling with or to express some pain that you’ve been holding onto. And if not, that’s ok, too. I give you permission to take what works for you and throw away the rest. My guess is that, even if what I write doesn’t speak to one other living soul, the very act of writing will help me to heal and to grow. And that will have been worth it. Here I go…