The Agony (And The Ecstasy): Reconciling Simultaneous Joy and Pain After Loss

This is the fourth in a series of articles Ive published after losing my beloved father Bruce and, two months later, my only brother Zachary. I write about my life after the dust settled, trying to make the most of each day with the help of my mother, husband, and three children.

Two weeks after returning from a Disney cruise with my mother, husband and three children, Im still smiling. The incredible brand that is Disney is truly magical- and not just for kids. Its difficult to be anything other than blissful in a world consisting of an unlimited supply of ice cream (and coffee for the grown-ups!), Mickey Mouse shaped waffles for breakfast, and an endless parade of Disney characters and princesses streaming by you, happily dispensing waves and hugs.

It was happiness incarnate, and I loved every moment. The last night of the cruise we crowded into the theater to see Believe, a variety show that featured some of the kids most beloved songs and characters. Its message was simple: believe in magic. Believe the impossible is possible. Believe miracles can happen. The real magic, of course, is watching the pure joy on your childrens faces as they witness the extraordinary world of Disney. Its the bonding that happens when you're with your kids for four straight days, eating three meals a day together, sleeping in a tiny cabin, on top of each other. Its the unique true love that exists within a happy family.

The highlight for my four-year-old was meeting Pluto. Besides Mickey, he'd decided he was the only character worth standing in line to meet. He clutched his stuffed Pluto as we waited, determined to surprise Pluto with his mini replica. He laughed hysterically as Pluto played along, petting the little stuffed dog and acting as though it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. Afterward my son couldn't stop telling us that Pluto met Pluto! He dragged the stuffed toy around with him the rest of the trip, making his brother and sister laugh by retelling the story over and over.

Amidst the immeasurable joy, though, theres an image floating through my mind. Its something between a memory and a vision- of my brother, as a child, in Disney World. I can recall it clearly: Zach, about five years old, cuddled up to none other than Pluto himself. Im sure its a photograph Ive seen over the years, and as soon as we get home I start looking for it, in a semi-panic. Maybe if I find it, I think, it will all make sense. Maybe its the one missing piece, that will explain all the other pieces. When I do find it, of course, it doesnt change anything. Zach is there, smiling, looking a little like each of my boys, in a happier time and place. And I wonder how its possible to be, on the one hand, so supremely happy, and on the other, utterly devastated. I feel infinitely lucky and grateful for my husband and children, and at the same time bitter and broken over the tragic end of my nuclear family. Between all the joy my children bring me, theres the many points in between of despair, and anger, and loneliness. Im still fighting all of it.

Somehow it is possible though- it all occurs together, simultaneously. In dark times I often question how I can possibly go on in so much pain. But then there they are- ready to make me laugh and feel eternally grateful again. Despite all the agony, its difficult to lose your optimism when you have children, their promise and boundless potential staring you in the face. So I tell myself: we all existed together- my mother, my father, my brother, and I- in the same moment in time, even if just for a short while. That was true magic.