I’m sad that I can’t call my dad and hear his voice.

I’m sad that my precious daughter is grappling with an unimaginable tragedy.

I’m sad that my dearest friend and I don’t see each other as often as I would like.

I’m sad that someone dear to me is struggling with horrible addiction.

I’m sad that my mom and I were at odds in the last years of her life.

I’m sad that there is so much hatred in the world.

I’m sad that all of us lost so much in the pandemic.

I’m sad that the wife of a dear client lost her father.

I’m sad that a magnificent glacier on a favorite mountain of mine has disappeared.

I’m sad that I haven’t spoken to one of my sons in months.

I’m sad that we left our beautiful home in Ireland.

I’m sad that so many people have lost so much in Maui, and Morocco, and Libya.

I’m sad that families with children in our affluent valley are without homes.

I’m sad that people are fighting and dying every day in Ukraine.

I’m sad that time seems to fly by way too fast.

I’m sad that injury kept me from doing what brings me joy for so long.

I’m sad that everything I love I will someday lose.

When I write these things – and feel these things – I cry.

Holy tears they call them in grief work.

But really, they wholly suck.

Because I don’t like sad. 

(Who does?)

Being sad is a buzzkill.

I like happy.

I focus on the good.

I say upbeat affirmations.

I’m a goal-driven success junkie.

I keep a gratitude journal, dammit.

So, why bother even saying that I feel sad?

Because sad is real.

If you don’t feel the feels, they come out sideways.

In self-medication and addiction.

In anxiety, anger, hatred, violence, and rage.

I lost my dad in the pandemic. He was the best dad. I couldn’t be with him when he died. When I could finally travel again, all I found was a barren lump of frozen ground.

I had such deep sadness. Such loneliness. So much anger. 

For two years, I kept it bottled up inside.

Ann would say, “You need to pay attention to your grief.”

I’d say, “Fuck my grief.”

Over and over and over again, like rogue waves, the grief would blindside me and knock me down.

Until unexpectedly (unintentionally truth be told), I had the opportunity – the gift – of doing deep work around my grief. In one miraculous moment, that cloud of darkness was lifted from me.

This from your card-carrying purveyor of toxic positivity:

Sad is an ever-present, constant companion on this our mortal journey.

There can be no happy without the sad.

No light without the dark.

In our grief-phobic culture, we are called to tend to grief. To connect with sadness. To name it. To make (uneasy) friends with it. To be present to it. To really feel it. For ourselves, and for those around us.

In that way, you will become whole.

You can heal.

We all can heal.

A broken world needs that. Now more than ever.