What if gratitude was never meant to replace grief, but to sit beside it? So often we are taught to choose between sorrow and appreciation, as if holding both at once is somehow too much for a single heart. But what if that tension is not a problem to solve, but a truth to learn how to live inside of? So today, we’re going to explore how gratitude and sorrow can coexist, and what it means to engage a restorative practice on days when hope feels far away.
When I was pregnant with my daughter, I traveled to my hometown for a baby shower hosted by my mother and grandmother. Before the celebrations began, we stopped to visit my grandfather, who was living in memory care at the time.
Memory care facilities can hold a particular kind of grief. Sometimes the losses feel visible before anyone says a word. But this facility felt safe. The staff cared deeply for the residents, and it gave our family the gift of trusting that my grandfather was being cared for well when we couldn’t be there ourselves.
That day, he was having one of his clearer days. I can still picture him sitting there with his icy blue eyes, his warm smile, and the familiar gentleness that seemed untouched by the progression of dementia. Even as memory became less reliable, his kindness remained remarkably intact.
I sat beside him and shared the news I had waited so long to tell him.
“Papa, I’m pregnant.”
He squeezed my hand and smiled.
“Oh honey, that’s wonderful. But who are you again?”
For a brief moment, my heart dropped.
Then he laughed.
“Just kidding. I’m so excited.”
It was exactly the kind of joke he would have made years earlier, before dementia became part of our family’s story.
I have a photograph from that visit that I still treasure. Sometimes I look at it and see the joy of finally sharing that news with him. Sometimes I see the grief that was already quietly present in the room. Even then, I knew there was a possibility that my daughter would never know the man who had helped raise me. A few weeks later, he died.
Looking back now, what stays with me most is the realization that gratitude and grief were both present in that moment, and neither one diminished the other.
I wasn’t grateful instead of grieving. I was grateful and grieving.
I was grateful for one more afternoon with him, one more conversation, one more opportunity to tell him about the granddaughter he would never meet.
At the same time, I was grieving losses that had not fully arrived yet. I was grieving the progression of dementia and the possibility that my daughter would never know him.
That is one of the realities of grief we do not talk about often enough. Grief does not begin at death.
Sometimes grief begins with a diagnosis. Sometimes it begins with a move into memory care. Sometimes it begins when you realize that a future relationship you imagined may never come to be.
Perhaps that is part of why gratitude and grief seem so incompatible to us. We tend to think gratitude means happiness and grief means sadness. But anyone who has lived through loss knows grief contains far more than sadness alone. Grief can include love, relief, anger, longing, tenderness, joy, and hope, sometimes all within the same afternoon.
What if gratitude is not happiness? What if grief is not only sadness? What if both are different expressions of love? This question matters because gratitude is often weaponized against grieving people, even when no harm is intended.
Many of us have heard some version of it: At least you had so many years together. Focus on the good memories. Be grateful for the time you had. Most people offer these words because they want to help, but the message underneath can sound like this: move toward gratitude and away from grief.
Grief does not need to be corrected. When we use gratitude to escape sorrow, we are no longer practicing gratitude. We are avoiding reality. So how do we engage gratitude without bypassing sorrow?
As both a grief educator and a somatic practitioner, I have found that the answer is not found in changing our thoughts. It is found in changing our relationship with our experience.
When I think about that afternoon with my grandfather, I realize I was never grateful for dementia. I was never grateful that his life was ending. I was grateful that I was able to witness that moment.
I was able to sit beside him.
I was able to hear his laugh.
I was able to watch his eyes light up when he learned he was going to be a great-grandfather.
Gratitude does not require us to appreciate suffering. Sometimes gratitude simply invites us to notice what is present alongside suffering.
On days when hope feels far away, I do not ask myself to feel grateful. I have found that gratitude forced into the room too early often feels more like pressure than comfort.
Instead, I begin with noticing. I notice what hurts. I notice the ache in my chest, the tension in my shoulders, the longing that keeps circling back around. I notice the grief without asking it to be smaller, quieter, or easier to carry.
Then, when I am ready, I gently widen my awareness. I notice the chair supporting my body. I notice the warmth of a cup of tea in my hands. I notice a text from a friend, a shaft of sunlight through the window, the dog asleep at my feet, or the steady rhythm of my own breath. I am not looking for silver linings. I am not trying to convince myself that everything is okay. I am simply allowing myself to notice that alongside the pain, something else is present too.
This is the restorative practice I return to again and again. Not gratitude as a demand. Not gratitude as a way out of grief. Gratitude as witnessing. Gratitude as paying attention. Gratitude as the willingness to acknowledge what is supporting me, even while I continue carrying what hurts. Over time, I have come to believe that this is one of the ways hope returns.
Hope often returns first as awareness. As a quiet recognition that even in the midst of loss, support is still present, life is still unfolding, and we are not only held by what hurts but also by what sustains us.
We do not have to choose between honoring what is gone and noticing what remains. We can do both.
Years later, when I look at that photograph of my grandfather and me, I still wish my daughter had known him.
And yet, in some ways, she does. She has spent her entire life being loved by someone who learned how to love from him. The patience I offer her, the gentleness I try to practice, and the values I carry into motherhood did not begin with me. They were shaped by people who came before me, including a grandfather whose influence remains woven throughout my life.
Loss may interrupt a relationship, but it does not erase its impact. The grief remains. The gratitude remains. And I no longer believe they are competing with one another. Because we grieve what we love. And because we love, we are capable of gratitude. Sometimes grief itself teaches us how precious life has been all along. And on the days when hope feels far away, perhaps that is enough. Not happiness or resolution, but the willingness to notice what is still here while honoring what is gone.
That, too, is a restorative practice.
Thank you for listening to episode 252 of Restorative Grief. If this idea landed somewhere tender for you, I want you to know you are not alone in the complexity of it. So many of us were taught that we have to choose between gratitude and grief, when in reality most of life asks us to hold both at once, often in the same breath. So if you take anything with you today, let it be this: slow down enough to notice what is here, let yourself feel what is true, and remember that nothing about your grief needs to be fixed in order to be witnessed.
If this is your first time listening to Restorative Grief with Mandy Capehart, I’m really glad you found your way here. Thank you to the patrons of the show who support this work and help keep these conversations alive and accessible. You can find details in the show notes if you’d like to become a patron for as little as $2 a month. Be sure to subscribe and leave a review if this episode resonates with you, it genuinely helps more people find this kind of support.
And as always, before we go, one last thing. Please remember, the only solution for grief is to do the work of grieving. Thank you for listening. I’ll see you next week.
Links + Resources from this episode: