God in the Yard: Karen's Journey, Part 4

So begins L.L. Barkat’s fourth chapter of God in the Yard, “Weep: celebration.” I sat to read this chapter in one of New York City’s newer parks, the High Line, shaped around former elevated train tracks on the west side of Manhattan. Sitting on a chair with a view over two avenues to the Hudson river, I was surrounded by the hum of city life: cars honking, passersby in conversation, birds chirping, cell phones and car alarms sounding, the breeze in the trees (yes, there are trees in NYC).

Responding to one of Barkat’s mid-chapter questions about my favorite celebration, I wrote:

“My favorite celebration is Easter. Its significance is profound for me because of my belief in the One whose resurrection we celebrate but also that it comes out of days beforehand of profound sadness and reflection. There is nothing “surface-y” to me about Easter. It is rich in its depth of experience and emotion. It is very REAL.”

A few pages later, Barkat writes, “My kids’ favorite religious celebration isn’t Christian, it’s Jewish: Passover. Maybe they instinctively understand the fullness of a holiday that begins with the remembrance of grief.” Wow. There it is- the connection between grief and joy that makes both so keen.

Less than two years ago my father died. A few weeks later when someone asked me how I was doing, I paused and said that I felt like my heart had been stretched. On any given day, the sadness and void I felt was so profound. But on other days, in other moments, that same stretched space could be filled with joy and gratefulness that was never as full as it was before my dad’s passing.

“Backtrack into grief...wade into grief...make room for it on the sled...” writes Barkat. Sledding is such a visceral image. I have vivid memories of sledding as a child. Like most fast rides, it evokes both fear and excitement in me. That “I’m not sure I want to do this, but won’t it be a thrill?” feeling. On my own, I’m not sure I would have gone sledding as much. But with my friends or my dad or another safe person, I felt somehow able to get on the sled and go. Grief is not necessarily safe or invited, but if we ignore it, like the proverbial “elephant in the room,” it doesn’t really do much good because it’s there anyway. And then we just feel the weight and miss the ride.