Grief and Gratitude Can Coexist
- Chano Itwaru
- 2 hours ago
- 4 min read
A December Reflection on Hope and Love
December always asks something tender of me. As the season of Advent begins, we light the first candle of Hope, a small flame that whispers that light can exist even in the deepest ache. This year, I found hope in an unexpected place: on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean, watching my daughter laugh with her family while feeling the familiar rise of Kevin’s absence settle quietly in my chest.
Hope isn’t loud or triumphant. It doesn’t burst into the room demanding attention. Instead, it stays steady and soft, willing to sit with us in the places we’d rather avoid. Hope doesn’t rush grief or silence it; it simply pulls up a chair beside sorrow and reminds us that both can coexist. It reminds us that gratitude for the people who are here can live right alongside the ache for the one who is not. And this kind of hope only blossoms when the heart is ready because grief refuses to be hurried. It moves on its own timeline, in its own rhythm.
Joy and Sorrow in the Same Breath
On the cruise, I felt a deep gratitude for my daughter. She holds her own grief because losing a brother leaves an imprint no one else can quite touch. Yet she showed up fully, with generosity and love. She made space for us in her routines, welcomed us into her joy, and wove us into the moments that will become her children’s memories.
Sometimes I would watch her, wondering what thoughts flickered across her expression. Was she remembering him, too? Did she feel the same mix of joy and ache that I carried?
There were moments my eyes filled without warning, that familiar tightness rising in my throat. I would quietly swallow the tears so they wouldn’t spill onto her day. And part of me wondered if she was doing the same for us.
Grief often becomes a silent dance we share without ever naming it. We move together, each aware of the other’s steps, each careful with our own.
The Dance Between Grief and Gratitude
Psychologists now recognize what grieving hearts have understood all along: grief and gratitude can coexist, and when they do, they can actually support living with more love than pain.
Research by Dr. Robert Emmons, a leading scholar on gratitude, shows that gratitude doesn’t eliminate pain, but it helps the brain hold onto moments of goodness without denying suffering. Gratefulness creates a soft place to land, even when the heart is hurting.
At the same time, grief experts like Dr. William Worden emphasize that healthy mourning requires us to stay connected to the person we’ve loss while still engaging in a life that continues to unfold around us. This is the essence of dual grieving: moving gently between remembering and participating, mourning and living.
This is what you feel when you’re:
laughing with family while your chest quietly aches
savoring a joyful moment while tears gather beneath the surface
remembering someone you love while trying to remain present for those still here.
Neuroscience even shows that sadness and gratitude activate overlapping pathways in the brain. In other words, your body already knows what your heart has been learning: the human soul was designed to hold both.
So if your heart feels divided this season, it isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of love.
Hope—Not a Cure, But a Companion
Advent reminds me that Hope is not the opposite of grief. It is not a solution or a cure. Hope doesn’t ask us to stop missing someone, nor does it demand cheerfulness or force a smile.
Hope says:
Even here, you are not alone. Even this tenderness, this contradiction, this in-between space is holy ground.\
Hope walked with me on that ship. Hope sat beside me when the empty chair at dinner reminded me of Kevin. Hope whispered that missing him doesn’t diminish the love I have for my daughter, and loving her fully doesn’t betray the love I’ll always have for him.
Holding Light in the Cracks
This December, I’m learning again that love is not diminished by loss. It continues to shape and steady us through every season. The more I love, the more I feel; grief and gratitude deepen each other, making room for growth and living fully.
So I step into December gently, with open hands and a tender heart, carrying both the ache and the blessing. I whisper Kevin’s name into the quiet, hold my family a little closer, and let God hold me through it all. He is near to the brokenhearted, holding our sorrow while gently opening our eyes to moments of goodness.
For this is the season when light still shines through cracked places. Where love persists, even through tears. Where grief and gratitude learn to breathe together, reminding me that I am still here, still embracing life, still walking through grief with hope and love.
If this season brings you both joy and ache, you’re not alone. I’d love to hear how you’re holding grief and gratitude together. Share your reflections in the comments so we can encourage one another.