G is for Grief, Gratitude, and Guitars

June 30, 2025

"There are three ways to mourn: the first is to cry, the second is to grow silent, and the third is to transform sorrow into song."

~Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel

Life is very heavy right now. Weight is added each day, sometimes many times in one day.

Today, the White House press secretary announced that the president will be visiting the Florida site where new detention centers for “illegal aliens” are being built. With a straight face, she said its informal name is “Alligator Alcatraz” – there will be one road in and one flight out. And the centers will be surrounded by wild animals of all kinds. Fox and USA Today both report that “Alligator Alcatraz” merchandise is for sale by Florida Republicans – t-shirts, hats, and beverage coolers. On X, the GOP reportedly said about “Alligator Alcatraz”- “Surrounded by swamps and pythons, it’s a one-way ticket to regret.”

My tears fall unbidden.

This is only one of several bits of cruelty tossed out to us today.

Cruelty is their point.

My life is not yet touched directly by the cruelty and indignities and threats to life. The grief and tears I carry are for those more vulnerable who live in the bulls-eye, and for my children and grandchildren. The weight of grief is upon me when I rise in the morning, and when I go to bed at night. In between there may be moments of peace, levity, joy, but grief is always in the shadows.

What in the world can we do to lessen these horrors? Will my grief eventually numb me, wear me down? I struggle. I resist and fight in my own meaningful but meager ways, and will continue to do so. But I struggle with the weight.

This is birthday week for Larry and me. He turned 70 on June 28, and I turned 72 today. Every year, the folks that help us with planning about retirement finances send us birthday presents. This year – a lovely pen and a gratitude journal for each of us. Larry and I talked about these journals – having a heart condition and a few close calls over the years, he wakes up every morning thinking, “Yippee! Still here!” His last words at bedtime are always – “It was a good day today.” He said he doesn’t feel the need to write any of this down in a journal. Nevertheless, I see that this is a ritual for him, an attitude, that keeps him even and mitigates the pain of what is going on around us to a tiny degree.

Several years ago, my Dad slipped on ice and sustained nasty breaks in his leg. He who is always out and about was house-bound for several weeks. During one of our phone calls, when I asked him how he was doing, he replied, “I am looking out the window at the sleet and snowstorm. How lucky I am that I don’t even have to think about whether or not to go out!” This man demonstrates such gratitude every moment of every day.

Me. Gratitude is also always with me, but it can hide when I am feeling especially dark. I find that I can go quiet when feeling heavy with despair and grief. Maybe a little bit numb if I am not careful. In the schema of typical responses to trauma or extreme stress – “fight, flight, freeze, or fawn” – I freeze. Get quiet. I have to noodge myself out of the silence. This is when I lace up my hiking boots, grab my camera, and head for the woods or streams. My frozen quiet thaws, softens as I walk among the trees and listen to birds and creek splashes. Nature and creativity. I am filled with gratitude. Ready to re-enter the battles that we are fighting.

Nolan, my 10-year-old grandson, is already learning that creativity can help him process hard feelings. He is studying guitar and song-writing at a music school in Brooklyn. As many young kids do, Nolan wonders where he fits in among his friends, how his basketball skills measure up to others on his team, for example. So, he writes about this, and creates a song that he can sing and play on his guitar.

So many things to love about what Nolan does! He feels something – maybe sadness, maybe uncertainty, maybe wonder. He is drawn to write about it, and as he writes, he resolves to some degree what to do or how to manage the emotions. Then – the best – he performs. Watching him sing and play the guitar is a true delight. His whole body moves, he grins or scowls, his leg bounces, he looks skyward, then down at the guitar fully concentrating on the riffs he is mastering. Joy.

As grownups, we learn to respond to sorrow, anger, injustice in many ways. For many of us, these days, that includes action. Doing something. Making calls, writing letters, supporting refugee agencies, attending rallies. We may become fatigued or frozen, or poised to fight or flee. We may pause and doubt whether or not we are making a difference. But if we are lucky, we know how to recharge, through our own creativity, laughing with friends, cooking, playing (yes adults play).

And we transform our sorrow into communal song that enlivens our efforts to grow peace and justice.

"'Colors in the Sky' by Nolan"

June 2025