Four weeks after Mike died, my friend Kathy and I went to see the Van Gogh Immersive Art Exhibit in San Francisco.
I have always been a fan of Van Gogh’s art, and the idea of an immersive experience was intriguing.
The trip to San Francisco, the first one for me since the pandemic, was also something to look forward to.
(Having something to look forward to was really important to me in the early days of losing Mike. I remember thinking that the future that I had hoped and planned for was no more…. How do I look forward?)
We had lunch at an upscale, modern restaurant and ordered cocktails and 3 courses. I am somewhat food-obsessed and remember enjoying the food while also feeling sad.
My thoughts raced, even as I maintained normal conversation:
“He would have liked this cocktail, but it would have been too pink for him to order for himself.”
“He would have ordered that sandwich.”
“He would have loved this chocolate budino.”
Not surprisingly, my thoughts ran on a similar track while we sat in the giant warehouse immersing ourselves in Van Gogh’s creations. I even gave voice to some of those thoughts:
“If Mike were here, he’d have counted the number of projectors and speakers in this place.”
“Oh, I saw the original painting when Mike took me to the Getty Museum on one of our first dates.”
These thoughts were distracting and overwhelmed me. And I felt mostly sad that he wasn’t there.
Would it surprise you to know that in spite of this, I loved the exhibit? And my time in the company of my friend?
I loved it because my grief didn’t keep me from tasting delicious food… or from appreciating amazing artwork. The exhibit blew my mind, even when my grief weighed on me.
Recently, my friend Debbie shared with me Brene Brown’s TED Talk on Vulnerability. In it, Brene says, “We cannot selectively numb emotions. When we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.”
Conversely, my heightened emotional state made it so that I was deeply moved by everything we did that day. The food tasted amazing, and the company and exhibit delighted me, even as I felt guilt-ridden for being there without Mike.
As I acknowledged my grief, I was equally vulnerable to beauty and sorrow.
That day in San Francisco felt like a supercharged day, and so it lives in technicolor in my memories.
I remember thinking, “How strange that I can be this delighted even as I mourn.”
And that seed that God planted in my heart, as devastated as I was when Mike died, took root. It was Hope.
And I knew she was here to stay. (Because God.)
Brene explains, “Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy, and creativity. It is the source of hope, empathy, accountability, and authenticity.”
Of course, I did not know this then.
But I invited Kathy to dinner before heading home. (Why not?)
The distracting thoughts continued.
“Mike would have loved this day, too,” I thought, as I sat there and missed him… while Kathy and I reveled in another incredible meal and a wonderful day in the city.
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