On Sadness, Happiness, and Billy Joel
(“This originally appeared on Modern Loss. Republished here with permission.")
I remember the first time I was able to feel happiness after
my son took his own life in December of 2012. It was on May 28, 2015, at a
Billy Joel concert. My family – what was left of it – had planned this as a
birthday gift, knowing how much I loved the music. Before this day I could
smile, function, and even laugh, but, I was a fraud. In the aftermath of Jonathan’s death, life had
taken on a “Stepford Wife” quality, where chores got done, meals prepared, conversations
had, work organized, and so on. But, my emotional range no longer extended to
exuberance or happiness; I had learned to navigate within strict limits, as
though moving along a narrow path, not able, or even desiring, to wander off of
it. Before I got these tickets, I “managed to live”. Now, faced with them, I couldn’t imagine this
future experience within my current boundaries. Would I be able to enjoy this
gift with my family?
I left for the concert anxiously begging myself to be able
to fully enjoy this time with my daughters and husband. Once there, as the
lights dimmed I began to take my first tremulous steps along a broader trail. I
acted my part like all the other Billy-lovers; I swayed, danced and sang along,
and bonded with the couple behind me who also knew all the lyrics. Slowly, I
felt the borders of my emotional road widen, and observed myself as if from an
invisible perch, sharing joy with my daughters and husband, smiles and laughter
passing between us. We were united in a shared moment of fun and happiness, immersed
in the work of creating a new memory for our abridged, reconstituted family.
The loss of Jonathan had eradicated me, as I used to be. Even
though I participated in the functions of life, I believed that no one was able
to discern that I wasn’t wholly present, not even my family. But, if this was
true, then why did I feel the continuous tug of my daughters’ need? Why did my
husband’s eyes follow my gaze during moments of silence? Why did it feel as
though they kept searching for me?
They were relentless. They asked my opinions, sought my
advice, and leaned on me for comfort, guidance and support as they always had.
They studied my expressions, my voice, and my intonations for the strength they
needed to carry on with their lives. It was, at times, unbearable. In my head I
screamed and wondered how they could turn to me for strength when I no longer had
any left to give them. Was it merely force of habit? They reached out for
direction from me, a soul lost with no compass and no GPS. They still believed
that I had answers to their questions about life, and words of wisdom to help
them make sense of the world.
They had purchased tickets to see Billy Joel. “Be happy with
us! Come back to us. We still need you.” With these tickets they implored me to
return to them, to not let them be lost from me. My family called to my spirit,
which had become frozen in a place of sadness. Through their love, I had become
unfrozen at a concert, where I learned to carry happiness and sadness together
in my heart, side by side.
There will be no patching up and being whole again and there
will be no happy ending. There can only be the back and forth battle between
happiness and sadness, always seeking to arrive at a cease-fire, albeit
temporary. But, there can also be movement towards a new configuration, and
perhaps like the creation of a new mosaic from shards of shattered porcelain, while
it can’t ever be the same as it was, it can still be beautiful. My family
called me back with a birthday gift. Billy Joel had saved me.
