On Sadness and Joy

Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.
Kahlil Gibran

I had such a lovely morning today, full of the joy of family, babies, children, companionship. It was so wonderful to hold my newborn grandson in my arms until he fell asleep bursting with little smiles of contentment; to watch my young granddaughter earnestly and passionately dancing to romantic ballads as if in a trance; to see the pride in my daughter and son-in-law’s faces as they contemplate their children thriving and growing surrounded by love; to see my husband blissfully playing the role of the absent-minded host; to cook a simple brunch for my loved ones. What simple and delicious joy to be alive and smothered in love!

Time flew by, and soon the little family had to go home so my husband and I could work on our retirement plans or lack thereof. Hugs, kisses, goodbyes; time to get to work. In a manner of minutes the joy was gone and a wall of sadness grew between us brick by brick by lonely brick. What strangers we are to each other after so many years sharing our lives! So many hopes and dreams, worries and concerns, triumphs and frustrations that we’ve never shared with each other because we didn’t have the time and privacy to do so! How acutely aware of these losses I have been for the best part of my life, and how blissfully unaware my hard-working husband has been! How it angered him to be forced to face the fact that he’s been AWOL from our home and marriage all these years! My sadness could not contain these revelations that have become part of my bones and sinews since I was such a young woman I that was barely more than a child.

It is not easy for him to realize I have chosen to retire from my housewife career before I die an early and painful spiritual death. He cannot formulate in his mind or even breathe the word retirement without having it get stuck in his throat and choking on it. Work is his life, his identity, his religion, his mistress, his all. It has sucked his imagination, his strength, his sense of humor, his passion for our friendship and togetherness, and lately, even his health.

My sadness grew and deepened as we continued to make an effort to communicate with each other, and his anxiety and frustration blossomed into anger and accusations that I considered totally unfounded and born of ignorance and alienation. I wanted to leave as fast as I could and find solace in my quiet little apartment where I could try to forget why I had felt there was no other way for me to survive as a healthy individual as long as we slept in the same bed and shared this beautiful house that rarely has been a home for me. My heart was turning into stone.

I packed my computer, printer, battery backup, and office supplies to take with me and he offered to help me carry them up the stairs to my place. At first I wanted to refuse so I could put him away from my life for the time being, but then the sky started to sob uncontrollably with sheets of watery grief and lightning groans, so I had to humbly and gratefully accept the offer he’d generously made as a peace offering.

We ran to our cars and got drenched in the process. It was even worse a few minutes later when we unloaded my stuff. I was soaked to my underwear like my heart bleeding with grief. He was very sheepish and sweet when he said goodbye. I said, “This has been extremely hard for me.” “Me too,” he replied, with sadness and a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I couldn’t wait to close the door and dissolve into tears, but something in me wanted to climb the wall of pain and hurt and sadness and feast my eyes on the love and hope on the other side.

I didn’t have the strength right away to tear down my wall of sadness and peek at a hopeful future with or without my childhood sweetheart. But I didn’t want to stay mired in pain. I decided to go to a movie by myself; a slow moving story about a very poor woman all alone in the world who loves nature and struggles to make ends meet as a maid. She honors her gift of painting and produces some amazingly beautiful works that bring her much joy and some financial security. There is a reversal of fortune and she goes mad and ends up in an asylum, but at the end of the film she is recovered enough to move to a room where she can walk out into a beautiful garden and sit under a tree with a blissful look on her face.

I really enjoyed the movie and was inspired to honor my creativity in any way possible. When I got home and started to write I realized that I had traversed my wall of sadness and, like the heroine in the movie, I had walked into a peaceful garden of simple joys and hope: my gift from God for my faithfulness and trust.