A year ago, my friend shared the news that her 32-year-old daughter was diagnosed with breast cancer.  This past month, she and her husband walked their baby girl down the aisle, cancer free, to be married to the love of her life.  A truly joyous time.

I watched the video.  Her fiancé looked much like Zane, similar style of dress, shoes, colors.  His groomsmen came up the aisle one at a time and kissed him on the lips, bringing laughter to the moment. I can imagine Zane’s friends would do something like that.  Friends who are more like brothers.

I watched the couple exchange their vows and the smiles on the faces of family and friends.  It was a happy ending to a scary time for them.  And a happy beginning, all rolled into one beautiful, sunny afternoon.

As grief warriors, these are times where you need to put on your full armor. Each celebratory scene bludgeons you with a pain, an anger of why this can’t happen for my child.  Why did they have a horrific scare that they could overcome.  Did overcome.  How is this fair for my son?  How is this scene not my life?   The armor helps cover the heart so that I can be happy for my friend. This is her moment.  And she deserves it. I am thrilled that their sleepless nights and worry is in submission.  Worry will always be a part of motherhood but today, she relishes in the joy of seeing her daughter be married.  And the fact life has made this an impossibility for us, for Zane, brings bittersweet to a breathtaking, internal scream. 

My friend, in her excitement to share has no idea. The invisible armor I wear holds my pain in so all she can see is my smile and all she can hear is “Congratulations, I am so happy for all of you.”  And I am.

The scare of the unknown that ravished my friend’s days for a year or so prior to this day also carried hope. There lived, during her daughter’s fight, opportunity to express love and time to share one more hug. In sudden death, this is all taken away from you.  One moment life is and the very next you are told it’s gone. There is a cosmic injustice to this. Why God creates miracles everyday and yet saving my child was not one of them.

That night, I find myself alone. I take my armor off and the tears flood.  I am so jealous that my fate is not as kind as my friends. And this is the life of those in the grief community.  We carry within us the strength to put aside our pain to be happy for our friends’ joys. It fills you with such mixed emotions that we must plan to be gentle with ourselves after sharing their joy. We must find ways that bring a little comfort to the hell of not having the same. The armor we wear, does nothing for this emptiness. The armor we wear is for those around us. It pretends, “I’m ok”.