Moments of light — unexpected, undeserved, and absolutely allowed.
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Opening Reflection: The First Full Moon After
The first full moon after Angé died came quickly.
Too quickly.
It had only been a one week. I was still moving through the days like I was underwater. Time was doing strange things — moving fast, then slowing down, then looping back and repeating itself. But the calendar didn’t care. Nature didn’t pause. And so, the moon rose.
That evening, I walked outside barefoot. The grass was cold underfoot. I had a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, not because it was freezing, but because I needed to feel something around me. I looked up.
There it was.
The same moon Angé would never miss. The one she waited for every month, always noticing it first. She’d gasp when it rose over the trees — not for show, but because it genuinely thrilled her. No matter how often she saw it, she greeted the full moon like an old friend.
And in that moment, standing alone on the lawn, I smiled.
I smiled at the moon. I smiled because I could hear her voice, see her face, feel her joy. It hurt — of course it did. But it also filled me. I felt warmth. I felt closeness. I felt… something good.
I didn’t expect that. I didn’t plan it. It just came.
That was my first glimpse of the good emotions that still live in grief — not instead of it, but inside it.
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1. Why Good Emotions in Grief Feel So Strange
In the beginning, everything hurts. Grief is full, total, and engulfing. You brace yourself for tears. You learn to expect sudden waves of pain. You assume that mourning is an unrelenting grey sky — and anything brighter must be wrong.
So when something good slips in — a laugh, a moment of peace, a memory that warms instead of wounds — it feels confusing.
You might wonder:
• “Am I allowed to feel this?”
• “Does this mean I’m forgetting?”
• “If I enjoy this moment, am I betraying them?”
These thoughts are common. You’re not broken or heartless for wondering.
But here’s the truth:
Grief doesn’t exclude goodness.
It makes space for it.
In fact, sometimes it’s grief that deepens your capacity for good emotions — because you feel more, not less. The volume of life is turned up.
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2. What Are the Good Emotions in Grief?
When we speak of “good emotions,” we’re not talking about an endless stream of happiness or a life untouched by sadness. In grief, good emotions often arrive side-by-side with pain, tangled together like threads in the same fabric. They can be subtle or striking, fleeting or enduring. They are the moments that lift you, soften you, remind you that life is still present, even in the shadow of loss.
▸ Joy
Joy in grief is quieter and more sacred than everyday cheerfulness. It’s not the kind of joy that comes with a party or a big achievement — it’s the quiet, steady pulse of life breaking through the sadness. It might be hearing a song you both loved and smiling at the memory of dancing in the kitchen. It might be noticing the way sunlight falls through a window and remembering that beauty exists without asking permission. Joy matters because it gives you proof that even after devastation, your heart can still move. It’s not a betrayal of your mourning — it’s a tribute to the love that made you capable of feeling it.
▸ Gratitude
Gratitude in grief is the moment you recognise what you had and who stood by you. It’s the awareness that even though you lost something irreplaceable, you were blessed to have it at all. Gratitude might arrive when a friend brings food without asking, or when you recall the warmth of being deeply loved. It softens the sharper edges of grief and opens a window for gentler air to come in. Gratitude doesn’t erase loss, but it can anchor you when the pain feels too vast — a reminder that love was real, and kindness still exists in your world.
▸ Love
Love is the constant. It doesn’t fade when the person dies; if anything, it intensifies. You might find yourself speaking to them in your head, feeling their presence in the smell of their old sweater, or suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to protect the memories you shared. Love in grief is raw and undiluted — it’s the very reason you’re hurting. But it’s also the reason you get up, keep breathing, and look for meaning in the days ahead. Love gives grief its depth, but it also offers you the strength to carry it.
▸ Forgiveness
Forgiveness in mourning often surprises people. Sometimes it comes because the loss changes your perspective on what’s worth holding onto. Old arguments, petty misunderstandings, and grudges suddenly feel like heavy baggage you no longer want to carry. This might be forgiveness of others — for what they did or didn’t say, for disappearing when you needed them — or forgiveness of yourself, for the moments you wish you could redo. Forgiveness is not permission for the harm to have happened; it’s permission for yourself to stop living inside that harm. It clears space for peace to enter, even in grief.
▸ Caring
Loss can crack your heart wide open. Caring in grief can be intense and unexpected. You might find yourself more patient with strangers, more willing to listen, or more eager to protect someone else from pain. You might reconnect with distant friends, or call a family member just to check in. Sometimes caring is directed at yourself — allowing rest, seeking help, or eating something nourishing. Caring becomes a form of survival, a way of stitching connection back into a life that has been ripped open.
▸ Optimism
Optimism in grief is fragile, but it’s powerful. It’s the small belief — sometimes only a whisper — that tomorrow might offer something worth seeing, doing, or loving. It doesn’t demand that you forget your loss; it simply suggests that your future can still hold good moments. Optimism might be as small as deciding to plant flowers this spring, or as large as planning a trip you once dreamed of. It’s hope dressed in everyday clothes, quietly reminding you that rebuilding is possible.
▸ Pride
Pride in grief is not arrogance — it’s respect for your own resilience. It’s the moment you realise you have survived another day you thought would break you. It’s looking back and seeing how far you’ve walked with this weight on your shoulders. You may feel pride in the person you lost — their courage, their kindness, their humour — but pride in yourself matters too. It’s fuel for the journey forward, proof that you’re carrying their love and your own life at the same time.
▸ Peace
Peace is rare at first. It may last only a few seconds — a deep breath that doesn’t hurt as much, a morning where the ache feels lighter, a sunset that wraps you in stillness. In grief, peace is the moment you realise you are okay right now, even if you won’t be in an hour. It doesn’t mean you’re “over it.” It means your soul found a brief resting place. The more you let yourself feel these small moments of peace, the more they will grow.
▸ Excitement
Excitement in grief is a rediscovery — the rush of waking up in the morning with something to look forward to, something that stirs the old “yes, let’s do this” feeling. It might be a long-planned trip, a favourite hike, a new project, or even just meeting someone you’ve missed. It’s the same thrill you felt before loss, but now it carries a new weight — because you know how precious these moments are. Excitement isn’t about escaping grief; it’s about recognising that joy can be active, energising, and even physical again. It’s the kick in the gut, the tightening in your chest, the smile you can’t stop — a sign that you’re not only surviving, but beginning to live again.
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3. Where These Emotions Show Up
These feelings don’t usually arrive during grand moments. They tend to sneak in:
• While walking in nature.
• When lighting a candle in their memory.
• While holding a cup of tea in silence.
• While planting something new in the garden.
• When hearing their laugh in your mind.
• During stories — the ones that make everyone laugh and cry at once.
You might find them during mundane chores. Or driving. Or sitting in your car outside the grocery store, staring at the steering wheel.
They’re not predictable. But when they come, they matter.
They are reminders: You are still alive. And they are still with you.
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4. Let the Good Emotions In — Without Guilt
Mourning is not a punishment.
It is a response to love.
And love invites light, not just sorrow.
So when a good emotion arrives, don’t push it away. Don’t apologize for it.
Let it land. Let it stay for a while. Let it remind you that you’re human. That grief hasn’t robbed you of everything.
Here’s what helps:
• Acknowledge it. Say to yourself, “This feels good. And that’s okay.”
• Speak it out. You can whisper to them — “You would’ve loved this.”
• Share it. Text a friend and say, “I just laughed at something I remembered. Needed that.”
• Remember their joy. If they loved sunsets, laughter, dancing — then your joy honours theirs.
You are not moving on.
You are moving with.
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5. How Mourning Evolves Emotionally
In the early days, pain is everywhere. But slowly — not on a schedule — grief begins to evolve.
You cry less. But more deeply.
You laugh more. But more quietly.
You remember more. And hurt less.
The good emotions don’t cancel the grief. They layer over it. They sit beside it.
You don’t stop mourning.
You simply become someone who carries both grief and life. And the emotions become more balanced — sorrow and hope, ache and awe.
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6. The Role of Good Emotions in Remodeling Life
We’re not healing — we’re remodeling our lives. And part of that remodeling involves deciding what good emotions you want to nurture.
So ask:
• Can I be someone who practices kindness more intentionally?
• Can I let optimism grow, even when I still feel unsure?
• Can I forgive without needing closure?
• Can I love without needing to prove it?
The good emotions are not an accident. With time, they can become a choice.
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7. If the Good Emotions Don’t Come
It’s also okay if you’re not feeling them yet.
This chapter is not a prescription. It’s a permission slip.
Your timeline is your own.
Some people take months. Others take years. Some feel joy right away and feel guilty about it. Others feel nothing for a long time and wonder if they’re broken.
You’re not broken.
You’re mourning.
And the good emotions will come. Not to replace your grief — but to stand beside it, and eventually, to help carry it.
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Conclusion: The Moon Still Rises
That first full moon marked something for me.
It didn’t heal me. But it reminded me that life continues. That the sky still moves. That beauty doesn’t disappear just because someone you love is no longer here.
And that smiling — even through tears — is part of remembering.
The moon still rises.
And in its light, I remember Angé — not only in sorrow, but in joy. In gratitude. In quiet peace. In optimism. In love.
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Reflective Questions
1. When was the last time you felt a good emotion during your grief?
2. How did it make you feel — and did you allow yourself to stay with it?
3. Which of the emotions in this chapter do you recognize in yourself?
4. Which ones do you struggle to access?
5. How might you open a small door to joy, forgiveness, or optimism today?
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Because of Angé
Because of Angé, I still look for the full moon every month.
And when I see it, I don’t cry. I smile.
I smile because I can almost hear her gasp — that sharp, joyful intake of breath she made when the moon rose, like it had surprised her yet again. I can see the way she’d lean forward, as if meeting an old friend, and whisper something only the moon could hear.
Because of her, I notice more. I notice the way moonlight softens the edges of the night. I notice the exact moment it rises over the horizon. I notice how it makes everything — even my grief — a little gentler.
Not because I’ve stopped mourning, but because her joy taught me that beauty is worth stopping for.
Because of Angé, I let good emotions land when they come — even in grief. I let them stay.
And in that moment, under the full moon, I share it with her.
