Elsa, I am so sorry.

I'm sorry too. Things always do seem to come in waves, but with good support systems, they don't swamp the boat. It's bittersweet indeed; I always feel that at times like this, what bouys one's spirits up is noticing how consistent the power of love is, running through our whole lives together on earth. The sadness and the joy are both expressions of that power.

I've been ruminating on that idea for some time now.

We cannot escape grief, nor should we wish to, because grief gives gravity to our happiness; it shows us the value of the things we love by showing us how we would (and how we will) cry for them when they pass out of our lives.

For now, though, I think I'll skip saying that to my teenaged niece, and instead make sure she has plenty of gelato cones and visits to the videostore and walks in the park and an auntly shoulder to come to.

Elsa, congratulations for getting married and condolences for your loss.

My current favourite saying is "No rain, no rainbows"; a simple saying but it has resonated with me. Oddly enough it's from a commercial featuring a wedding.

"No rain, no rainbows"

I'm liking this.

*hugs*, Elsa.

One of the other counselors at my hospice often describes grief as "hollowing you out" and creating the internal space for experiencing other big emotions in the future, both positive and negative. It can teach you that you can handle what previously might have seemed overwhelming, as long as you stay open to the experience rather than shutting down.

It seems like you're a great person for your niece to have in her life right now. I'm sorry for your family's loss, and congratulations on your marriage.

Seconding everything here.

The grief your family is going through now is a beautiful mentor, Elsa. It will open you up to others as nothing else can. The "hollowing out" is true - that space will be filled by the empathy you will always have from now on for people in crisis and need.

You will always be available for another person now, even more than you thought you were before this sadness entered your life.

I loved being present for your wedding, and your husband's family are gracious, sweet, welcoming folks.

Tell D. and his kin my love and thoughts are with them also. I loved meeting them, and cant' wait to see them again soon.

LT and Miko, you may actually have met my sister [Gaoo, her online name] at the wedding --- she's the one who made the cake. That's right: my sister, deep in grief and exhaustion and worry, made us a 100-person wedding cake.

Months ago, she offered us the cake as a gift. For weeks leading up to the wedding, I assured her that we would make other plans, but she insisted. It was a real work of art, and a valiant act of love.

My sister and I, who are almost a decade apart in age and who knew little of each other until my thirties and her forties, have stood by each other for many years now, through the best and worst of life, and we know that it's the tragedies and sorrows that taught us to do this for each other and for our friends. Except The Fella, there's no one I trust more.

The real surprise to me was yesterday, when The Fella saw my our niece, hours after her father's death. He quietly wrapped her in his arms, and she melted into his grasp, and I thought, "Oh! He's her uncle. She needs her uncle. Of course."

As for the winnowing, strengthening process of grief: I've been ruminating on that, too. I know that my late partner's death changed me, almost entirely for the better.

Two of my oldest friends, also the dearest friends of my late partner, came a thousand miles to be at the wedding, which felt like a benediction. One of these friends confided to my new husband, "I never thought she want to marry anyone. She was so cynical and tough." But she only knew me before E. died, and before my father died, and before I learned what to value in life.

Grief can change us, and if we're attentive and thoughtful, it can change us into better, kinder, more loving people.

I do go on. J's death rocked me even more than I expected; I've been so focused on caring for Gaoo and my niece that I never stopped to process my own grief until yesterday. Heck, I've known J since I was 13. It's hard to believe he's gone. And I can't do this on my own blog, where my sister will see it --- I need to give her space to claim her grief, without stepping on it myself.

((((((Elsa))))))

Waves rolling in, rolling out.

What a lovely image of your husband finding a place in the family's experiences and helping to support and love people as they feel such need. Sometimes spouses do an amazing job at this, I've noticed, and it helps when they are able to give generously while others really need to tend more to their own emotions.

((((hugs))))

(((((Elsa))))))

I had a huge long discussion about grief and loss yesterday. I told someone this: that 10 years after the loss of my dad I remember that it was horrible and awful, and in some ways it still is, but the things that I remember about the process of grieving are all the bittersweet stuff. The stuff that there is beauty and truth in.

(not actual wording I used, but same meaning)

I'm thinking of you and yours at this emotional time.

*hugs Elsa*