On gratitude
I’ve been thinking a lot about gratitude lately, and the idea that even in grief there are good things in life that we should notice, appreciate, and be grateful for. That focusing on these things, rather than what has been lost, is a better expenditure of time and energy and is the road to healing. And on an intellectual level, that seems sensible enough. Bad will happen whether we will it or not, so you may as well focus on the good. In fact, that has long been my philosophy; it’s just gotten a little lost in recent months. Or if not lost, more difficult. I try.
But I have to admit, I find it difficult to sustain gratitude as a balancing force in the face of loss. It isn’t that I am unaware of the blessings that still exist in my life. I am, in fact. I cherish them. And I am thankful for them; but I always have been. Counseling gratitude as the antidote to grief seem to be purveying a subtextual idea that those of us who have lost should appreciate what remains even more than those who have not. The fact that we often do is more side effect than the moral imperative it is supposed by others who suggest it, the natural consequence of understanding in your bones the true precariousness of everything.
Be grateful he didn’t suffer long, be grateful that he was at home, be grateful he is free of the cares and pain of this world, be grateful for the time you had, be grateful for those who remain who love you and whom you love, be grateful for sunsets and puppies and spring blossoms and chocolate bars and the laughter of children and other small wonders all around you. And most importantly, be grateful you didn’t lose all that, too. The gratitude in this situation is that things aren’t worse, because they could be. It’s like being grateful you only got punched in one eye instead of both. Of course you’re grateful; but does the eye sting any less?
I know I have much to be thankful for, much more than many. But does my loss of my sweetie hurt any less for that? You cannot make up with oranges for apples; that is, I hold both the grief and the gratitude within me, and one does not seem to mitigate the other; they merely take turns in my focus. And I have no way of knowing whether this is as things should be, or if I am doing myself a disservice for not adjusting my mental recipe for fruit salad. I’ve never been here before.