08/10/2026
Joy & Grief Are Neighbors
Joy lives next door to Grief.
Their gardens share a fence.
Joy grows sunflowers
and dances barefoot
through the morning dew.
Grief grows lavender
and sits quietly
when the rain comes through.
They borrow sugar.
They wave from their porches.
Sometimes Joy knocks on Grief’s door
and says,
“Come outside.
My body is doing something wonderful.”
And Grief smiles.
“I know.
I’m so glad for you.”
Sometimes Grief knocks on Joy’s door
and whispers,
“Someone I love is hurting.”
Joy takes her hand.
“Then let’s sit together.”
Neither asks the other
to leave.
Because Joy knows
another person's sorrow
doesn't make her own happiness wrong.
And Grief knows
another person's healing
doesn't diminish her pain.
So they keep company.
They laugh.
They cry.
They share the afternoon sun.
And when Joy's body
begins to dance again,
she doesn't apologize
for having music.
She simply dances
a little more gently.
And when Grief watches,
she smiles.
Because perhaps
this is the kindest way
to live:
to receive our blessings
without believing we earned them,
to honor another's suffering
without surrendering our joy,
and to leave the gate
between us open.
After all,
we were never meant
to live alone in our gardens.
We were meant
to be neighbors. ♡
A little Metta for the road 💜🩵🌱
May you make room for every feeling that arrives.
May joy be welcomed without apology.
May grief be met without fear.
May compassion include you, too.
May you receive the gifts your body offers today
without believing you must earn them—
and may another person's pain
never require you to abandon your own joy.
Different gardens.
Same sky.
One beautifully human heart.
We listen with love.
We respond with kindness. ♡
May you meet yourself gently,
exactly where you are.
