Four Years of the Both/And Life

Tomorrow marks four years since Maggie died, and somewhat strangely, it also marks two months (8 weeks) of marriage for me & Ted. Reflecting on these two very real, very different "anniversaries" this week has caused me to again reflect on what has become a bit of a life motto for me, which is living the "both/and" life.

To endeavor to grieve Maggie's loss sincerely and fully, and still also fully embrace the life and love ahead for me, was a goal, a struggle, I first publicly shared about seven weeks after she died. At some point along the way, I started referring to this as the both/and life, writing Grief isn't my whole life, but it has become an important part of it. I am learning how to embrace life that is happening now while still missing Maggie, how to hold the terrible and the beautiful in both hands and let them coexist.

Of course at the time, I had no idea I would meet Ted or that so much brilliantly beautiful happiness would come into my life because of him. Or that although they would never meet, they would share a birthday. The ultimate invitation to the both/and life... each year as I miss her on her birthday, I get to celebrate his right by his side. Some might see it as a weird coincidence, but it's actually comforting to me. Maybe it is divine intervention, or maybe it really is an odd coincidence, or maybe it's fate. Or maybe no matter why it is, the what I choose to make of it is more important- it's a beautiful personal reminder that love and loss are both essential pieces of what it means to be human. To me, it's also a striking reminder that life is short.

Most of this week I've spent sitting in data meetings, or stats classes, or answering emails, or giving reading tests to Kindergarten and first grade students. Some days, I've had unwelcome painful memories rush in and open up doors in my mind without even knocking, just interrupting my thoughts and ushering in feelings of anxiety and deep sadness along with them. Some days, I've blissfully daydreamed myself back to the sand on the south coast of Bermuda, reminiscing on each and every incandescently happy moment of the magical beachside candlelit dinner Ted set up for us on our honeymoon.

I can't choose to experience just one or the other. My love for Maggie remains as real and true as it has ever been, and so my grief does too, as I miss her in new ways through new seasons of my life. She would be seventeen, and I often wonder what that would look like for her. What would she have been like at our wedding? Would she have danced to our songs? Would she have brought a date? What would she be planning for her own future now, if she were still here? How many more pets would she have talked my parents into bringing into their home?

And also I can't spend all my time wondering, stuck in what-ifs and the missing. To quote one of her favorites, "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live" (said Dumbledore to young Harry, as the boy spent hours in front of a mirror showing him his parents, who had died).

Just as real and as true, and just as overwhelming, is my love for the life I am building with my beloved husband. To come home each night to a man who shares my hopes, dreams, and faith, (not to mention much of my taste in TV shows and late-night snacks) is an unbelievable privilege and joy. He is a better partner for me than I ever had dared to dream I would find. He is unfailingly patient and consistently affectionate and seriously hilarious. His witty jokes, creative problem-solving, tight hugs, and sweet words make every day better than it would otherwise be. He cheers me on through success and comforts me through sadness. He has a curiously clever mind and a singing voice that makes old ladies we don't even know turn around and compliment him in church. Some days I look over at him on the couch and I think my heart might just explode with the warm fuzzy happiness of knowing that he is mine and I am his. 

I get to pursue a career I find deeply meaningful, alongside some of the best people I have ever met. My relationships with my parents, Ben, and Katie have been stretched and grown and deepened in ways I couldn't have foreseen. I've married into a new (to me), wonderfully tight-knit, loyal, and fun family. Even on the most difficult days of this life, I feel ridiculously blessed when I think about the people with whom I share this wild, weird, beautiful, terrible, lovely human experience.

Sometimes I feel pressure to write something sort of profound, or at the very least inspiring, when I write about grief, or love, or especially when I write about both. Today I don't have any wise words or call to action, just my own reflections to share. I think that maybe I knew the secret to living the both/and life all along, which is that you just do... to embrace all of the human experience means to love, which also means to grieve, which also means to love.