In Tandem, Always

I have often said that my son is being raised in the shadow of grief.

I lost my father 2 days before my son turned 1, in 2011.

That loss absolutely transformed who I am and how I exist in the world.

My son’s first year of life was my father’s last year of life.

My son has grown up witnessing how much I miss my father.

I speak of him often, we have photos of him in our home.

We have a chair I inherited from him that we call, “La silla de Abo.” (“Abo’s chair.”)

Years ago, I was told that maybe I shouldn’t express the depth of my grief so freely in front of my son — that him being privy to my sadness could be traumatic for him.

For a time I wondered if it was wrong to be so transparent about how much I miss my father.

I wondered if my grief would be a source of trauma for my son.

Last night, after his second day of 8th grade, our son told my husband and me that the first book his Humanities class will read this year is The Book of Delights.

I immediately recognized the author as Ross Gay, who wrote the astounding poem, A Small Needful Fact, about Eric Garner.

I told my son this, adding that his Aba (my mother) once translated A Small Needful Fact into Spanish.

My son is bilingual, and will absolutely read the poem in both languages.

Our son then told us that his Humanities teacher asked the class what they thought the book might be about, based on its title alone.

My son said everyone but him said it must be about joy.

My son told us that he said:

“I think it is about delight and joy but also about sadness and how delight can sometimes be mixed with sadness.”

My heart.

Upon hearing what he’d said, I immediately thought he grasped that from the title precisely because his entire life, he has understood that life is:

Joy and pain,

Grief and celebration.

Loss and gain.

In tandem, always.

My son has indeed grown up in the shadow of grief.

He has seen tears in my eyes on joyful occasions, like his birthday,

Or noticed tears alongside my laughter in the retelling of a memory of his Abo.

Perhaps my son witnessing my grief has not been traumatic after all.

Perhaps witnessing my grief has been a gift.