The answer, of course, was yes.

“Then isn’t he worthy of a great sorrow?”

Before you can get on with your life, you will have to give way to grief.

For some, that may seem easy. For a while you may not want to feel better because the grief keeps the one you love close—even as the days and weeks seem to pull you away from the person you loved and still love.

But for others, sorrow feels like an enemy. Some people are afraid to cry—afraid that once they start, they will never be able to stop. Or they fear being unable to control when or where their tears come to the surface.

There’s no need to rush ourselves through sadness or to avoid it altogether. Sorrow is not weakness, and tears do not reflect a lack of faith. God gives us the gift of tears to help us wash away the pain.

While sadness can be awkward, laughter can seem off-limits—or certainly inappropriate following the death of someone we love.

I remember being afraid that some people might think I was in complete denial—or worse, that I didn’t really care about Hope—if I laughed out loud during her difficult life or following her death. And I remember the strange look I got from someone at a dinner the night before Gabriel’s memorial service, when I asked a friend to tell a funny story and laughed heartily at it.

Sometimes we are afraid to laugh lest people think our pain has passed or that our sorrow has been a sham. But just as tears give vent to the deep sorrow we feel, laughter reveals that while grief may have a grip on us, it hasn’t choked the life out of us.

Laughter takes some of the sting out of hurt. It gives us perspective and relieves the pressure. In fact, laughter actually increases the flow of endorphins, our bodies’ naturally produced painkiller. It gives us a mini-vacation from our pain. And wouldn’t you sometimes like to take a day off from your sorrow?

We know we’ve found a real friend when he or she is comfortable not only with our sadness in grief, but our laughter. And we’re friends to ourselves when we allow ourselves to feel and express both.

It’s Okay to Hide

Many grieving people simply don’t want to deal with others. They don’t want to have awkward conversations and uncontrolled emotions. They want to be alone—to have time to think and reflect, and simply miss the person who is gone.

For some mysterious reason I’ve never been able to put my finger on, facing a crowd when you’re grieving can be hard. Walking into church and other situations where so many people express their compassion can be emotionally overwhelming.

I remember feeling that I simply couldn’t walk into the parent’s orientation night at Matt’s school a few months after Hope died. I feared my total identity was “that woman whose baby died,” and with every acquaintance would come an emotionally draining conversation about Hope’s death. Fewer people probably were thinking about me and my loss than I imagined, but the prospect of encountering so many I hadn’t seen since Hope died during the summer overwhelmed me, so I stayed home.