I would like to attend a memorial service for our friend, who died twenty years ago, but it falls on the weekend of my husband's birthday (a big one) and we already have reservations for ourselves and our kids and grandkids five hours away. This echoes a dilemna that occurs each year. For this friend died on my husband's birthday. We are sad, we are happy. We are conflicted. We want to be with his widow and children, but most years we are away or have plans with our family. My birthday is only four days after, so it is even more complex. We never forget our friend or his untimely death, and our shock over it, but we go on making plans for celebrating.
Paradox is everpresent as I get older. I speak joy and sadness embraces it. I am sad but carry that sadness with me to a place of happiness. Sadness has become my old friend. It's there at my elbow, but companionably, and nothing I do or say is unmixed. The fullness of life includes. It doesn't exclude. So I'll be there at the gravesite as I am absent, and our departed friend will be with us at the table as we toast my husband.
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